FIVE  MASTERS   OF 
FRENCH  ROMANCE 

ALBERT  LEOH   GVERARD 


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THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

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FIVE   MASTERS   OF    FRENCH 
ROMANCE 


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Ji^IVE   MASTERS    OF 
FRENCH    ROMANCE^ 

Anatole  France^  Pierre  Loti,  Paul  Bourget, 
Maurice  Barres,  Romain  Rolland.  By 
ALBERT    LEON     GUERARD 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
NEW   YORK  :    597-599   FIFTH    AVENUE 


{All  rights  reserued) 
Printed  in  Great  Britain. 


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Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2007  witii  funding  from 

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ANALYTICAL   TABLE    OF 
CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I. 

INTRODUCTION :  FIRST  AID  TO  THE  ANGLO- 
SAXON   READER  OF  FRENCH  NOVELS. 

PAGES 

§1.   Spirit  and  Scope  of  this  Book        -  -      i-io 

The  French  technique — Art  for  Art's  Sake — Fic- 
tion as  a  document  on  National  Psychology. 

§2.  Critique  of    Fiction   as    a    Source    of   His- 
torical Documentation  -  -     10-20 

The  author's  temperament — Literature  is  the  self- 
revelation  of  one  class  only — "  Good  "  Uterature 
not  necessarily  the  most  representative — Undue 
prominence  given  to  Parisian  hfe. 

§3.  Why  France,  Loti,  Bourget,  Barr^s,  Rolland, 

were  selected    -  -  -  -    20-25 

§4.  The  Political  and  Social  Background        -    25-29 

National  discouragement,  popular  vitaUty. 

§5,  The  Conflict  of  Ideals         -  -  .    29-35 

Tr  adition — Beauty — J  ustice . 

vii 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  II. 

ANATOLE  FRANCE:  BEFORE  THE  DREYFUS 
CASE. 

PAGES 

§1,  A    General    Survey    of    Anatole    France's 

Career        -  -  .  .  .    39-47 

A  personal  glimpse — France's  supremacy — ^The 
four  periods  in  his  career. 

§2.  Formation  AND  First  Period  :  Gentle  Irony    48-65 

Early  surroundings — Education — The  Crime  of 
Sylvestre  Bonnard — The  Book  of  my  Friend. 

§3.  Second   Period:  Voltairian   Irony,    Art  for 

Art's  Sake  ....    66-77 

France  as  a  writer  of  short  stories — France  as  a 
literary  critic — Thats — The  Rotissene  of  Queen 
Pidauque — The  Red  Lily. 

§4.  The  Ethics  of  the  Average  Sensual  Man     77-90 

Critique  of  all  objective  criteria — Tolerance  and 
enUghtenment — Hedonistic  SociabiUty — Love  and 
the  morality  of  the  eighteenth  century. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ANATOLE  FRANCE:  THE  DREYFUS  CASE, 
AND  AFTER. 

§1.  Provincial  Life  -  -  .  .    97-1  n 

The  Elm  on  the  Mall — The  Church  of  the  Con- 
cordat— Abb6  Lantaigne — Anatole  France's  Anti- 
clericaUsm, 

viii 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


PAGES 

§2.  Anatole  France  and  the  Dreyfus  Case     iii-i2i 

Authority  and  Liberty — The  Dressmaker' s  Form — 
The  Amethyst  Ring — M.  Bergeret  in  Paris. 

§3.  Anatole  France  and  Socialism    -  -    121-129 

Towards  a  Better  Age — On  the  White  Stone. 

Discouragement  and  Cynicism       -  -    129-133 

Penguin  Island — The  Gods  are  A  thirst — The  Revolt 
of  the  Angels. 

§4.  The  War — Conclusion  -  -    133-134 

On  the  Glorious  Path. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

PIERRE   LOTI. 
§1.  Education     -----     139-146 

Feminine  influences — Protestantism — The  sea. 

§2.  LoTi's  Novels:  1879 -1892    -  -  -    146-155 

Exotic  idylls — My  I  Brother  Yves — The  Iceland 
Fisherman — Madame  Chrysanthemum. 

§3.  LoTi's  Novels:  After  1892  -  -    156-164 

A  Sailor — Ramuntcho — The  Disenchanted — Mis- 
cellaneous works. 

§4.  The  Art  and  Thought  of  Pierre  Loti  -     164-171 

A  lyrical  painter — "Anguish"  the  key-note — 
Nature  and  love  as  refuge — "  The  Books  of  Pity 
and  Death  " — "  Supreme  Pity." 

ix 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  V. 
PAUL  BOURGET. 

I'AGBS 

§1.  Rationalism  and  Tradition  -  -     177-188 

Rationalism  triumphani;  before  the  Revolution ;  on 
the  defensive  thereafter — Taine's  influence  on 
Bourget  and  Barres. 

§2.  Paul  Bourget  as  a  Psychologist  -     189-198 

Many-sided  culture — The  chronicler  of  Parisian 
elegance — Amiel's  disease — "  Un  cochon  triste." 

§3.  Paul  Bourget  as  a  Moralist        -  -     198-211 

The  Disciple — The  moral  bankruptcy  of  science 
— Reconstruction  of  France  on  the  basis  of  tradi- 
tion— Catholicism,  indissoluble,  family,  permanent 
classes — A  retrospective  Utopia. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MAURICE  BARRES. 

§1.  The  Novels  of  Maurice  Barres  -  -     216-234 

(i.)  "Ego-Worship " :  Analysis — Belated  Baudelair- 
ianism.  (ii.)  Politics:  Boulanger — The  Romance  of 
National  Energy,  (iii.)  TAe  [//'yooiei^  and  Regional- 
ism— The  Eastern  Bastions — The  Inspired  Hill. 

§2.  The  Doctrine  of  Nationalism  in   Maurice 

BARRfcs  -----  234-248 
The  "  soil  and  the  dead" — "  French  truth  "  and 
"French  justice" — The  French  Norm  and  the 
French  Tradition — The  three  roots  of  patriotism: 
common  interests,  common  traditions,  common 
aspirations. 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  VII. 
ROMAIN  ROLLAND. 

PAGES 

§1.    ROMAIN    ROLLAND'S    CAREER  -  -  252-263 

Rome  —  Music — The  drama  —  Biographies  —  Les 
Cahiers  de  la  Quinzaine. 

§2.  "  Jean  -  Christophe  " :      The      First      Four 

Volumes  -----    263-276 

Dawn — Morning — Adolescence — Rebellion. 

§3.  "  Jean-Christophe  ":  The  Last  Six  Volumes  276-284 

The  Fair  on  the  Market-Place — Antoinette — In  the 
House — The  Friends — The  Burning  Bush — The 
New  Day. 

§4.  "Jean-Christophe":^    Interpretation     and 

Criticism     -        -  -  -  -    285-291 

Strength  and  its  failure — The  techniques  of  Jean- 
Christophe — Jean-Christophe  as  an  historical  docu- 
ment— Franco-German  reconciUation. 

Postscript:  "Above  the  Strife!"      -  -    291-296 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CONCLUSION:  THE  TWILIGHT  OF  A 
WORLD  ? 

§1.  After  the  War:  Decadence?        -  -     299-306 

Geniuses  as  cannon-fodder  and  survival  of  the  un- 
fittest 

xi 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


PAGES 

§2.  Regeneration  -  -  _  -    306-312 

Greater  earnestness — Precedents  of  the  Religious 
Wars  and  the  Revolution. 

§3.  Unity  AND  Self-Confidence  Restored.    What 

France  Means  to  the  World  -    312-318 

Index  -  -  -  -  .    319-326 


XII 


CHAPTER  I 

INTRODUCTION:  FIRST  AID 

TO  THE  ANGLO-SAXON  READER 

OF  FRENCH  NOVELS 


CHAPTER  I. 

INTRODUCTION:     FIRST     AID     TO    THE     ANGLO- 
SAXON  READER  OF  FRENCH  NOVELS. 

§  I.  Spirit  and  Scope  of  this  Book. 

The  French  technique — Art  for  Art's  sake — Fiction  as  a 
document  on  National  Psychology. 

A  YELLOW-BACK  novel  on  the  parlour  table  of 
an  English-speaking  family  is  a  diploma  of  cul- 
ture and  daring,  with  a  faint,  not  unpleasant, 
aroma  of  wickedness.  Modern  French  fiction  is 
a  byword  for  sparkling  audacity :  it  is  the  cham- 
pagne of  literature.  In  case  anyone  should  have 
been  enticed  to  pick  up  this  volume  by  the  bad 
reputation  of  the  French  novel,  I  beg  to  give 
notice  at  the  outset  that  these  studies  will  be 
neither  sparkling  nor  wicked :  both  distinctions 
transcend  my  ambition  or  my  ability.  For  one 
thing,  I  have  perused,  almost  at  a  stretch,  be- 
tween two  and  three  hundred  novels,  not  includ- 
ing short  stories;  and  I  can  assure  my  readers 
that  sparkling  wickedness,  in  such  high  doses, 
carries  with  it  its  antidote.     One  yellow-back 

3 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

may  be  exciting  and  dangerous :  three  hundred 
have  a  sobering,  nay,  a  saddening,  effect,  which 
a  German  colleague  of  mine  described  as  "  ein 
literarischer  Katzenjammer."  And  there  is  a 
deeper  reason.  It  is  well  for  the  heroes  of  Boc- 
caccio to  indulge  in  licentious  tales  a  few  leagues 
from  a  plague-stricken  city :  but  I  should  despise 
my  public  and  myself  if  we  could  find  any  plea- 
sure in  frivolities  whilst  millions  of  our  brothers 
are  being  slaughtered  on  the  altars  of  a  monstrous 
idol.  I  do  not  expect  frequently  to  allude  to 
the  European  nightmare.  But  I  know  that  it 
overshadows  the  thoughts  of  all  right-minded 
men;  and  it  leaves  us  in  no  tolerant  mood  for 
the  spicy  scandals  of  the  Parisian  life  of  yester- 
day. 

But  frivolity  and  seriousness  are  not  inherent 
in  the  subject-matter  itself.  I  have  read  books 
on  the  humour  of  mathematics;  there  are  far- 
cical sides  even  to  theology,  as  Voltaire  would 
be  only  too  eager  to  testify;  whilst  a  doctor 
might  win  his  philosophical  spurs  with  an  his- 
torico-psychological  treatise  on  the  various  breeds 
of  Irish  bulls.  Whether  the  theme  be  in  itself 
serious  or  not,  it  is  always  open  for  a  writer  to 
be  dull,  and  for  his  readers  to  be  bored.     The 

4 


INTRODUCTION 


surest  method  for  attaining  this  double  result  is 
to  deal  with  general  ideas :  a  method  whereof  we 
shall  freely  avail  ourselves.  After  an  extensive 
survey  of  French  fiction,  individual  plots  and 
characters  recede  into  the  background.  We 
become  aware  of  certain  universal  traits,  of 
certain  broad  issues.  It  is  for  the  sake  of  these 
that  the  following  essays  were  composed. 

The  most  obvious  of  these  traits  is  the  artistic 
perfection  of  the  average  French  novel,  even  in 
the  hands  of  such  little-known  men  as  Elemir 
Bourges  or  Estaunie,  or  in  those  of  others  who, 
like  Pierre  Loiiys,  are  beneath  contempt  from 
the  moral  point  of  view.  There  is,  in  most  of 
them,  a  restraint,  a  freedom  from  sheer  sensa- 
tionalism and  sentimentalism,  a  clearness  of 
composition,  a  smoothness  in  the  development 
of  a  simple  and  logical  plot,  a  seldom-failing  tact 
of  selective  realism,  which  can  hardly  be  matched 
anywhere.  If  I  had  to  express  the  whole  of 
these  attributes  in  one  word,  I  should  say  that 
French  authors  have  the  gift  of  style.  Good  or 
bad,  wicked  or  edifying,  the  French  novel  that 
has  any  pretension  to  literature  is  visibly  the 
work,  not  of  an  enthusiastic  schoolgirl,  not  of  a 
mere  hack-writer,  but  of  a  craftsman  who  knows 

5 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

and  respects  the  laws  of  his  art — a  craftsman 
with  a  long,  exacting  tradition  to  sustain;  with 
a  special  and  intense  training;  with  a  formidable 
body  of  professional  critics  to  face  and  a  fasti- 
dious public  to  conquer.  The  result  may  not  be 
great :  perfection  is  not  excellence.  One  might 
be  tempted  to  say  that  it  cannot  be  great,  if 
greatness  be  inseparable  from  spontaneity;  but 
it  can  hardly  fail  to  be  distinguished.  In  a 
country  of  raw,  untutored  strength,  like  America, 
where  public  opinion  in  literary  matters  is  neither 
trained  nor  organized ;  where  genuine  criticism 
is  absolutely  drowned  in  a  mass  of  paid  adver- 
tisements; where  educated  people  read  and  enjoy 
without  blushing  the  lucubrations  of  Harold 
Bell  Wright,  the  example  of  French  technique 
might  have  a  salutary  influence.  Not  that  I 
would  for  a  moment  advocate  the  writing  of 
Parisian  novels  in  the  American  dialect;  but  in 
literature  as  in  city  government,  we  might,  with- 
out losing  our  national  identity,  train  ourselves 
away  from  the  haphazard  and  the  shoddy,  and 
learn  the  value  of  taste  and  care.  And  I  am 
not  so  sure  that,  in  this  as  in  many  other  things, 
England  might  not  profitably  borrow  a  few 
leaves  from  the  books  of  her  friend  and  ally. 
6 


INTRODUCTION 


This  technical  supremacy  of  the  French  novel 
will  lead  us  to  the  discussion  of  a  broader  prob- 
lem: art  for  art's  sake.  Should  artistic  perfec- 
tion be  the  sole  aim  of  the  novel-writer  ?  Should 
it  be  more  than  a  means  to  an  end,  or,  better 
still,  the  unconscious  reward  of  higher  striving, 
a  flower  plucked  by  the  wayside  in  a  sterner 
quest  ?  Granted  that  beauty  is  truth,  truth 
beauty — by  which  end  shall  we  take  hold  of  the 
problem  ?  Is  it  possible  for  the  novelist  to  be 
neutral  in  moral  questions  ?  Does  not  even 
photography  imply  selection,  emphasis,  and  a 
personal  point  of  view  ?  Thus  we  shall  be  led 
to  challenge  the  position  of  some  of  the  greatest 
modern  French  masters — of  Anatole  France,  for 
example.  We  shall  see  that  pictorial,  psycho- 
logical, or  mu-sical  witchery  has  often  been 
used  as  a  cloak  for  an  appeal  to  the  lower  in- 
stincts; we  shall  see  that  there  may  be  such  a 
thing  as  aesthetic  pharisaism,  no  less  deadly  than 
hypocritical  prudishness.  Of  beauty  might  be 
said,  as  of  religion,  love.  Reason,  patriot- 
ism: "  What  crimes  are  committed  in  thy 
name  !" 

This  will  be  our  second  step.  The  third  will 
take  us  far  beyond  the  moral  quagmire  of  so 

7 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

many  works  of  fiction,  and  to  much  higher 
grounds.  For  those  writers  who,  hke  France, 
Loti,  Barrfes,  Bourget,  have  so  often  prostituted 
their  unrivalled  skill  to  the  description  of  licen- 
tious scenes,  are  by  no  means  thoughtless  epi- 
cures. They  are  Frenchmen  of  the  present  day, 
with  a  thousand  years  of  culture  back  of  them, 
and,  facing  them,  the  most  engrossing,  the  most 
tragic  problems  of  modern  life.  Many  contem- 
porary French  novels  frankly  belong  to  what  is 
called  in  France  "  la  litt^rature  a  these,"  and  in 
this  country  "  problem  literature."  This  is  em- 
phatically true  of  Bourget 's  epoch-making  Dis- 
ciple, or  of  the  last  six  works  of  Zola ;  it  is  no  less 
true,  albeit  less  obvious,  in  the  case  of  Colette 
Baudoche  or  The  Disenchanted.  Problem  fiction 
is  open  to  severe  criticism :  but  the  other  books, 
which  simply  purport  to  be  truthful  human 
documents,  or,  with  still  greater  modesty,  claim 
to  be  entertaining  stories  and  nothing  more,  are 
steeped  in  ideas,  and  imply  definite  doctrines,  a 
philosophy  of  life  and  of  society:  thus  France's 
Red  Lily,  objective  and  detached  though  it  may 
seem.  The  very  scum  of  fiction  may  help  us 
follow  some  eddy  in  the  currents  of  French 
thought.  Novels,  more  directly  than  any  other 
8 


INTRODUCTION 


form  of  literature,  are  documents  on  the  psycho- 
logy of  the  French  people.  And  never  has  the 
commanding  interest  of  such  a  study  been  more 
clearly  revealed  than  at  the  present  time.  The 
causes  of  the  Great  War,  its  outcome  and  its 
results  will  ultimately  be  found  to  be  problems 
of  national  psychology.  The  Allies  are  fighting, 
not  a  nation,  but  a  state  of  mind.  The  Battle  of 
the  Marne,  which  wrung  salvation  out  of  dis- 
aster, was  a  spiritual  rather  than  a  material 
victory.  Faith  has  offset  forty- two  centimetre 
guns,  and  steadiness  of  nerves  is  bound  to  win 
in  the  end.  Had  France  been  the  dissolute  and 
decadent  nation  that  we  chose  to  imagine  some 
fifteen  or  twenty  years  ago,  her  spirit  would  have 
broken  down,  even  before  her  armies,  under  the 
fierce  onslaught  of  Germany.  A  French  novel 
is  a  personally  conducted  trip  to  France ;  it  offers 
us  what  Thomas  Cook  could  not  give  at  any 
price — an  introduction  to  the  home  of  French 
families,  and  a  glimpse  of  the  French  soul.  In 
these  pages,  therefore,  my  purpose  will  be  to 
study,  not  so  much  Anatole  France  or  Loti, 
Barr^s,  Bourget  or  Romain  Rolland,  but  that 
entrancing  and  mysterious  entity,  France :  France 
as  a  nation,  picturesque,  intensely  individualized; 

9 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


France  also  as  the  herald  of  humanity,  the  land 
where  universal  problems  send  their  clearest  note 
of  challenge. 

§  2.  Critique  of  Fiction  as  a  Source  of 
Historical  Documentation. 

The  author's  temperament — Literature  is  the  self-revela- 
tion of  one  class  only — "Good"  literature  not  neces- 
sarily the  most  representative — Undue  prominence 
given  to  Parisian  life. 

Half-knowledge  is  but  ignorance  worse  con- 
founded. A  whirlwind  trip  to  Paris  has  be- 
fuddled more  Anglo-Saxons  than  it  has  enligh- 
tened; and  the  same  danger  threatens  the  hasty 
and  superficial  reader  of  French  novels.  If 
works  of  fiction  are  to  be  used  as  documents  by 
the  student  of  psychology  and  history,  it  must 
be  with  the  utmost  caution.  Literature  is  the 
mirror  of  life;  but  it  is  a  mirror  whrch  never 
embraces  the  whole  of  life  and  never  is  perfectly 
true. 

We  have  first  to  make  allowances  for  the  per- 
sonality of  the  writer.  Zola  himself,  although  he 
made  extravagant  claims  of  "scientific  objec- 
tivity "  for  his  own  school,  Naturalism,  defined 
art  as  "  nature  seen  through  a  temperament  " 

lO 


INTRODUCTION 


— and  we  all  know  that  the  "  temperament  "  of 
literary  men  is  not  a  negligible  quantity.  The 
very  fact  of  authorship  is  an  abnormality,  and 
writers  are  essentially  misrepresentative  men. 
A  careful  study  of  the  letters  and  memoirs  of 
famous  authors  reveals  the  fact  that  hardly  a 
single  one  could  be  trusted  about  the  simplest 
or  the  most  important  events  in  his  own  life. 
Literature  is  a  magic  veil  which  obliterates  the 
sharp  distinction  between  truth  and  fiction.  It 
would  be  ridiculous  to  call  novel  writers  in  the 
lump  professional  liars ;  but  they  are  professional 
illusionists.  We  have  to  measure,  in  each  sepa- 
rate case,  with  what  amount  of  salt  their  fiction 
must  be  taken. 

The  next  fact  to  bear  in  mind  is  that  literature 
is  the  self-revelation,  not  of  the  whole  people — 
the  age  of  folk-lore  is  past — but  of  those  classes 
which  are  able  to  express  themselves  and  care 
to  do  so.  In  any  given  generation,  the  majority, 
so  far  as  literature  is  concerned,  is  dumb,  and 
almost  as  deaf  as  it  is  dumb.  It  leaves  no  direct 
trace  in  literature.  No  genuine,  unsophisticated 
peasant  could  give  us  a  record  of  peasant  life. 
A  Burns,  a  Guillaumin,  an  Audoux,  if  you  will 
pardon  this  jumble  of  names  great  and  small, 

II 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

are  no  longer  peasants,  but  conscious  litterateurs, 
whose  sensations,  whose  very  recollections,  are 
coloured  by  their  acquired  culture.  And  this 
huge  mass  is  practically  unaffected  by  literature : 
all  the  essentials  of  its  existence — the  daily  task, 
the  family,  religion — are  profoundly  traditional, 
almost  instinctive,  and  have  hardly  changed 
throughout  the  ages.  Men  educated  in  the 
artificial  atmosphere  of  the  cities  often  fail  to 
realize  the  invincible  conservatism  of  the  rural 
classes  in  continental  Europe.  It  was  but  yes- 
terday that  it  dawned  upon  a  village  minister 
that  German  peasants  had  not  yet  been  con- 
verted to  Christianity.*  This  discovery  was 
strikingly  confirmed  by  recent  events:  but  the 
same  fact  is  true  of  continental  Europe  as  a 
whole,  and  of  Great  Britain  in  part.  The  old 
gods  are  still  worshipped  in  the  guise  of  saints, 
or  feared  as  goblins  and  demons.  This  immov- 
able substratum  seems  to  play  a  small  part  in 
national  history  as  well  as  in  literature :  yet  it  is 
the  constant  reservoir  of  forces  without  which 
the  self-devouring  upper  classes  would  soon  cease 
to    be.     In    national    as   well    as    in    individual 

*  Paul  Gerade,  Meine  Beobachiungen  und  Erlebnisse  als 
Dorf pastor,  1896. 

12 


INTRODUCTION 


psychology,  the  domain  of  the  subconscious  is 
by  far  the  more  extensive.  Real  France  may 
be  just  the  France  that  hterature  ignores,  or 
cannot  interpret  from  within. 

It  is  true  that  a  great  change  has  come  over 
the  country  in  the  course  of  the  last  fifty  or  sixty 
years.  With  manhood  suffrage,  conscription, 
cheap  transportation,  telegraphs,  compulsory 
education  and  popular  newspapers,  the  masses 
are  waking  up  to  cultural  life.  But,  so  far,  they 
have  not  told  us  their  secret.  Their  brightest 
minds  have,  in  a  sense,  deserted  their  class,  even 
when  defending  the  democratic  cause.  They  are 
not  educated  peasants  or  artisans :  they  are  em- 
bryonic, and  very  soon  full-fledged,  bourgeois. 

The  bourgeoisie  plays  such  an  important  part 
in  the  national  life  of  France  that  we  might  be 
satisfied  if  that  one  class,  at  least,  were  faithfully 
portrayed  in  literature.  Here  we  come  upon 
another  stumbling-block :  what  is  literature  ? 
In  every  cultured  nation,  several  thousand  books 
or  pamphlets  are  published  every  year:  who 
could  handle  these  tons  of  literary  material  ? 
What  survives  as  "  literature  "  in  the  narrower 
sense — one  book  in  a  thousand,  and,  if  we  take 
periodicals  into  account,  one  page  in  a  million 

13 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

— is  likely  to  represent,  not  an  average,  but  an 
exception.  If  literature  is  intellectually  far 
superior  to  the  average  level,  it  may  also  be 
morally  inferior.  Before  drawing  inferences 
from  The  Flowers  of  Evil,  we  must  remember 
that  there  never  were  more  than  a  handful  of 
Frenchmen  who  enjoyed  Baudelaire.  And  this 
is  singularly  true  of  the  worst  yellow-back  novel, 
which  may  be  defined  as  a  cosmopolitan  poison 
put  up  in  Parisian  bottles.  Take  the  most 
widely  circulated  novels  of  Anatole  France: 
France  has  readers  all  over  the  world;  he  has 
become  almost  a  fetish ;  thousands  buy  his  books 
out  of  sheer  snobbishness,  or  because  of  the 
"  truffles  "  with  which  his  concoctions  are  fla- 
voured, and  which  can  be  appreciated  by  others 
than  high-brows.  Yet,  with  all  these  advantages, 
his  sales  barely  reach  the  100,000  mark,  with  an 
average  of  40,000.  Now,  the  ordinary  French 
peasant,  working  man,  or  even  petit  bourgeois, 
selects  his  paper  and  remains  faithful  to  it 
chiefly  on  account  of  the  serial  stories — the  only 
kind  of  literature  he  enjoys.  Before  the  war,  Le 
Petit  Journal  and  Le  Petit  Parisien  each  claimed 
a  paid  circulation  of  over  a  million,  and  a  circle 
of  three  to  four  million  readers :  claims  which  are 
14 


INTRODUCTION 


staggering,  but  not  absolutely  preposterous 
when  you  think  that  in  remote  villages,  one  copy 
would  suffice  to  go  the  slow  round  of  all  the 
farmhouses.  A  novel  like  Les  Deux  Gosses* 
has  from  ten  to  twenty  readers  for  one  of  Anatole 
France,  and  a  hundred  for  one  of  RomainRolland. 
Just  one  step  higher  than  d'Ennery,  Montepin 
or  Decourcelles,  there  are  in  France  authors  who, 
like  Hall  Caine  and  Marie  Corelli  in  England, 
have  not  given  up  all  claims  to  literature.  Their 
production  is  commercialized  art,  yet,  in  a  sense, 
it  is  art.  Such  was  Georges  Ohnet,  suchis  Henri 
Bordeaux.  Now,  whilst  these  honourable  manu- 
facturers are  not  spared  by  professional  critics, 
they  have  a  much  larger  public  than  the  genuine 
artists.  For  the  historian  of  manners,  they  are 
more  "  representative."  And  their  literature  is 
as  edifying  as  any  Sabbath-school  book.  An- 
other example:  L'Abbe  Constantin,  sweetish  and 
unconvincing,  might  be  printed  in  the  Ladies^ 
Home  Journal,  and  Aunt  Priscilla  would  never 
turn  a  hair.  The  same  author,  Ludovic  Halevy, 
wrote  a  little  masterpiece  of  a  kind  not  to  be 

*  Dramatized  in  this  country  as  Two  Little  Vagabonds. 
Has  nothing  to  do  with  the  fascinating  autobiography 
Father  and  Son. 


IS 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

encouraged,  La  Famille  Cardinal,  the  very  quin- 
tessence of  Parisian  wit  and  wickedness.  La 
Famille  Cardinal  may  survive  as  literature — on  an 
upper  shelf  inaccessible  to  young  ladies;  L'Abbe 
Constantin  will  be  forgotten,  except  in  American 
colleges,  where  its  easy  style  and  unimpeachable 
sentimentality  will  long  keep  it  a  favourite. 
Yet  which  of  the  two  is  the  more  "  typical  "  ? 

I  should  like  to  carry  the  demonstration  one 
step  farther,  and  claim  that  literature  may  be 
not  so  much  a  picture  of  society  as  a  protest 
against  society,  the  complement  as  well  as  the 
mirror  of  life.  Granted  that  we  enjoy  in  Shake- 
speare those  universal  touches  in  which  we  recog- 
nize our  own  souls :  do  we  not  enjoy  also,  more 
obviously  perhaps,  the  romance,  the  wild  passions, 
the  tragic  events,  the  sovereign  poetry  not  found 
in  our  own  commonplace  existence  ?  Nothing 
could  be  more  formal,  colourless,  lifeless,  than 
the  literature  of  the  French  Revolution  and  of 
the  First  Empire.  But,  under  Louis- Philippe, 
the  Citizen-King,  the  embodiment  of  safe  and 
sane  Philistinism,  when  "  Enrichissez-vous  !"* 
was  the  watchword  and  Common  Sense  the  idol, 
then  of  all  times  bloomed  the  rankest  romantic 

*  Get  rich  1 
l6 


INTRODUCTION 


literature,    the    blood    and    thunder    drama    of 
Victor  Hugo,  the  passionate  calls  to  rebellion  of 
George  Sand,  the  childish  and  entrancing  prose 
epic  of  the  elder  Dumas,  the  earlier  novels  of 
Balzac,  with  their  constant  background  of  mys- 
tery and  terror.     In  an  age  of  dull  comfort  and 
peace   without   honour,   the   most   adventurous 
souls  found  in  the  fantastic  realms  of  literature 
a  free  scope  for  their  pent-up  energies.     Twenty 
years  earlier,  it  is  on  the  battlefield  that  they 
would   have  satisfied   their  craving  for  action. 
This  law  of  contrast  holds  good  to  the  present 
day,  in  France  and  elsewhere.     How  many  films 
describe  the  American  life  that  we  are  familiar 
with  ?     Is  it  The  Perils  of  Pauline  or  The  Dia- 
mond from    the   Sky  ?      The    word    law   is    too 
ambitious:  I  am  not  offering  a  hard  and  fast 
theory:   I   am   merely  calling  attention   to   one 
element  in  literature  which  should  not  be  dis- 
regarded.    Let  us  see  how  it  works  in  the  case 
of  the  modern  French  novel.     One  of  the  essen- 
tial facts  in  French  life  is  the  so-called  "  marriage 
of  convenience."     Many  irregularities  which  take 
place  in  real  life  are  acts  of  rebellion,  at  times 
almost  excusable,  against  a  heartless  and  sordid 
system  which  disposes  of  human  beings  with 
c  17 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

scant  regard  for  their  sentiments.  These  in- 
trigues, so  far  as  we  can  judge,  are  the  exception, 
and  no  more  prevalent  than  in  other  leading 
countries.  French  novels  seem  to  give  a  different 
impression.  The  fondness  of  irreproachable 
husbands  and  wives  for  a  literature  which  to  us 
appears  unduly  spicy  represents  the  craving  for 
adventure,  for  romance,  which  they  were  denied 
in  their  own  youth,  and  which  they  satisfy, 
innocently  enough,  in  this  vicarious  way.  Be 
it  said  without  paradox,  the  heroes  of  fiction  are 
scapegoats  which  take  away  the  sins  of  Israel. 

Literature  is  a  distorting  mirror;  it  gives  cari- 
catural  prominence  to  one  aspect  of  French  life — 
the  love  affairs  of  the  Parisian  smart  set.  There 
are  French  novels  of  all  kinds,  it  is  true:  his- 
torical romances  like  Notre-Dame,  Ninety-Three, 
The  Three  Musketeers,  Salammbo ;  stories  por- 
traying the  life  of  all  classes,  of  all  provinces,  of 
all  countries  under  the  sun ;  fairy  tales,  allegories, 
Utopias ;  Balzac  and  Zola  have  attempted  to  give 
us  a  synthetic  picture  of  the  whole  of  French 
society,  from  Court  circles  to  the  slums;  and 
Les  Misdrables  is  a  work  truly  encyclopaedic  in 
character.  Yet  the  fact  remains  that,  especially 
during  the  last  thirty  or  forty  years,  Parisian 
i8 


INTRODUCTION 


"  high  Hfe  "  has  received  an  undue  amount  of 
attention  on  the  part  of  novehsts.  We  shall  see 
in  studying  Bourget  that  there  are  some  serious 
reasons  for  this  narrowing  down  of  the  field  of 
fiction.  We  shall  at  present  mention  only  the 
most  obvious.  "  High  life  "  in  Paris,  whether 
on  the  Grands  Boulevards,  in  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Germain  or  in  the  newer  districts  colonized 
by  the  cosmopolitan  aristocracy  of  finance,  in 
its  glittering  demi-monde  or  in  its  world-famous 
Bohemia  of  arts  and  letters — "  high  life  "  in 
Paris,  that  modern  Fairyland,  has  more  glamour 
about  it  than  any  fabled  Arcadia  of  the  past. 
For  the  modest  sum  of  three  francs  fifty,  we  are 
admitted  for  a  few  hours  into  the  magic  circle. 
Who  could  resist  the  temptation  ?  Such  a 
curiosity  is  morbid,  I  know;  as  morbid  as  that  of 
the  good  people  from  Keokuk,  Kalamazoo,  and 
maybe  even  Texarcana,  whose  dollars,  in  ante- 
bellum days,  were  grist  to  the  Moulin-Rouge. 
The  student  of  French  civilization  should  beware 
of  conclusions  hastily  based  on  such  one-sided 
documents.  Three-fourths  of  the  French  novels 
may  purport  to  chronicle  the  wickedness  of 
some  ten  thousand"  Parisians,"  many  of  whom 
were  made  in  Germany :  this  does  not  imply  that 

19 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

thirty-nine  million  Frenchmen  were  living  accord- 
ing to  the  gospel  of  Anatole  France. 

In  other  words,  the  image  of  society  is  sub- 
jected not  to  a  mere  refraction,  but  to  sundry 
deformations  through  the  medium  of  literature. 
It  is  our  task  to  compute  these  "  aberrations  " 
as  accurately  as  we  can,  and  to  restore  the  true 
image.  Should  we  even  partially  succeed,  we 
would  have  served,  in  a  modest  way,  both  history 
and  literature.  Not  only  shall  we  get  a  more 
trustworthy  picture  of  French  life,  but  we  shall 
also  gain  a  more  thorough  understanding  of  the 
writers  themselves. 


§   3.  Why   France,   Loti,   Bourget,   Barres, 

ROLLAND,    were    SELECTED. 

I  have  selected,  as  typical  of  contemporary 
French  fiction,  the  works  of  Anatole  France, 
Pierre  Loti,  Paul  Bourget,  Maurice  Barres,  and 
Romain  Rolland.  Any  such  selection  is  open 
to  challenge  as  arbitrary.  I  have  not  included 
in  this  list  two  of  the  most  widely  read  among 
French  novelists,  Ren^  Bazin  and  Henry  Bor- 
deaux. Not  that  I  wish  to  adopt  the  super- 
cilious attitude  of  those  critics  for  whom  every 

20 


INTRODUCTION 


pure  and  sane  story  is  ipso  facto  conventional, 
mawkish,  Philistine:  there  are  books  as  unim- 
peachable as  any  of  Rene  Bazin's  among  the 
collected  works  of  the  five  writers  mentioned 
above.  I  may  simply  say  that  Bazin  and  Bor- 
deaux, although  distinguished  and  infinitely 
respectable,  do  not  represent  anything  very 
definite  in  modern  French  literature.  Zola's 
Naturalism  is  definite  enough,  and  has  played  a 
tremendous  part  in  the  evolution  of  the  novel. 
But  it  belongs  to  the  past;  at  least  it  is  un- 
doubtedly a  receding  influence.  So  I  have  left 
out  of  account  altogether  the  last  representa- 
tives of  that  school,  men  of  no  mean  talent,  and 
who  have  scored  innumerable  triumphs,  like 
Octave  Mirbeau,  Leon  Descaves,  Paul  Adam, 
Paul  and  Victor  Margueritte,  J.-H.  Rosny.*     I 

*  I  should  have  hked  to  dwell  upon  the  two  brothers 
who  sign  J.-H.  Rosny;  they  were  among  the  idols  of  my 
youthful  enthusiasm;  and  they  once  seemed  to  me  the 
most  earnest,  as  well  as  the  most  learned,  and  perhaps  all 
round  the  most  gifted,  of  contemporary  French — or  Franco- 
Belgian — writers.  They  cover  a  wider  field  than  any 
novelist  I  know,  not  excepting  H.  G.  Wells — from  pre- 
historic times  to  the  anarchistic  movement  in  the  slums 
of  Paris  and  the  dim  vistas  of  to-morrow.  Spoilt  at  first 
by  pedantry  and  clumsiness  of  style,  later  by  indecent 
haste  and  carelessness,  they  have  failed  to  attain  the  place 
which  seemed  due  to  them. 

21 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


should  have  liked  to  devote  a  special  chapter  to 
women  writers.  They  are  less  numerous,  per- 
haps less  prominent,  in  France  than  in  the  Eng- 
lish-speaking world ;  yet  they  are  responsible  for 
much  excellent  work.  Marie-Claire,  by  the 
seamstress  Marguerite  Audoux,  took  the  literary 
world  by  storm  a  few  years  ago,  and  is  not  yet 
forgotten;  at  the  other  pole,  the  reckless  novels 
of  Colette  Willy  have  a  directness,  a  sincerity, 
which  almost  silence,  for  a  time,  our  moral  judg- 
ment ;  The  House  of  Sin,  Helle,  and  The  Rebel,  by 
Marcelle  Tynaire,  rank  very  high  among  modern 
productions,  and  I  am  told  by  good  authorities 
that  her  Eve  of  Battle  is  one  of  the  best  things 
inspired  so  far  by  the  European  conflict.  The 
historical  romance,*  the  Voltairian  philosophical 
tale,t  the  story  of  peasant  life, J  the  exotic  novel, 
cosmopolitan§  or  colonial, ||  all  deserved  separate 
notice.  The  field  is  rich,  and  as  "  innumerable  " 
as  the  heart  of  Countess  Mathieu  de  Noailles.^ 

*  Maurice  Maindron.  f  Andr6  Beaunier. 

{  Guillaumin,  E.  Moselly.         §  C.  Farrdre. 

II  Bertrand,  J.  and  J.  Tharaud,  Pierre  Mille. 

^  Cf.  also  Marcel  Pr6vost,  like  Bourget  a  psychologist 
not  afraid  of  risky  subject  {Les  Demi-Vierges),  who,  like 
Bourget  again,  turned  into  a  conservative  moralist,  al- 
though not  quite  so  orthodox  as  the  author  of  The  Sense 
of  Death. 
22 


INTRODUCTION 


My  selection,  I  confess,  has  been  purely  em- 
pirical. I  have  picked  out  those  writers  who 
have  secured  universal  recognition — that  re- 
cognition which  cannot  be  measured  by  the 
praise  of  critics,  by  academic  honours,  or  by 
profitable  sales  separately,  but  by  a  combination 
of  all  three.  Anatole  France,  Loti,  Bourget, 
Barres,  are  members  of  the  French  Academy; 
they  are  hailed  as  masters  by  the  young  genera- 
tion ;  long  articles  in  all  languages, and  even  books, 
are  devoted  to  the  study  of  their  art  and  thought. 
Romain  Rolland  has  not  yet  received  the  same 
rewards :  but  the  world-wide  standing  of  his 
Jean-Christophe  made  it  impossible  to  exclude 
him. 

These  five  writers  cannot  be  said,  in  any  sense, 
to  form  a  group,  or  even  to  represent  a  "  genera- 
tion." The  youngest  of  them,  Romain  Rolland, 
is  forty-eight;  the  oldest,  Anatole  France,  is 
seventy- two.  Anatole  France  was  born  six 
years  before  Guy  de  Maupassant,  who  died 
twenty- three  years  ago,  and  already  belongs  to 
the  classical  past.  Yet  these  five  men  stand 
a  little  closer  than  dates  would  seem  to  indicate. 
The  talent  of  Anatole  France  did  not  develop 
early.     He  won  his  fame  in  the  same  decade  as 

23 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

his  younger  rivals,  Bourget,  Loti,  and  even 
Barres — that  is  to  say,  between  1885  and  1895. 
Romain  Rolland,  comparatively,  is  a  newcomer. 
But  it  is  the  generation  of  yesterday  that  he 
attempts  to  describe.  He  is,  at  any  rate,  the  last 
great  novelist  that  revealed  himself  before  the 
world-war;  and,  rightly  or  wrongly,  it  is  generally 
believed  that  European  literature,  and  parti- 
cularly Parisian  fiction,  will  not  be  quite  the  same 
after  the  great  ordeal. 

Anatole  France  is  first  of  all  the  master  of 
style,  the  delicate  artist,  the  dilettante;  then  the 
keenest  of  wits,  ranging  from  kindliest  humour  to 
most  biting  irony;  a  disciple  of  Voltaire  and 
Renan  who,  late  in  the  day,  wandered  with  the 
sectaries  of  Karl  Marx.  In  Pierre  Loti,  we  have 
a  new  Chateaubriand — a  painter  and  a  poet, 
dragging  under  many  skies  his  incurable  ennui 
and  his  nameless  longings.  Bourget,  the  chroni- 
cler of  "  society,"  is  also  the  most  searching  of 
psychologists,  a  moralist  of  undisputed  ortho- 
doxy, and  a  lay  doctor  of  the  Catholic  Church. 
Barres,  a  sensitive  artist,  a  restless,  paradoxical 
mind,  passed  from  the  Cult  of  Self  and  from 
fevered  romanticism  to  the  worship  of  national 
traditions,  "  the  soil  and  the  dead."  Romain 
24 


INTRODUCTION 


Rolland  attempted  nothing  less  than  a  total 
synthesis  of  modern  European  culture.  I  do 
not  claim  that  this  quintet  of  names  is,  in  itself, 
"  necessary  and  sufficient."  Yet  not  one  could 
well  be  spared,  and  there  is  hardly  an  aspect  of 
French  thought  that  is  not  adequately  repre- 
sented in  their  works. 


§  4.  The  Political  and  Social  Background. 
National  discouragement,  popular  vitality. 
The  period  through  which  these  authors  have 
lived,  and  which,  directly  or  indirectly,  they 
describe  in  most  of  their  books,  is  one  of  the 
least  sensational  in  French  history.  In  politics, 
a  government  de  facto,  the  result  of  a  compromise, 
considered  by  all  parties  not  even  as  an  experi- 
ment, but  as  a  makeshift;  an  amorphous  Re- 
public, a  democracy  in  name,  but  in  fact  a 
plutocracy,  a  bureaucracy,  and  a  bistrocracy* 
in  unholy  alliance;  a  regime  saved  from  disaster 
by  the  divisions  of  its  enemies,  by  the  weary 
scepticism  of  the  masses,  by  the  dread  of  adven- 
ture which  had  come  over  a  nation  once  idealistic 

*  Bistro:  Parisian  slang  for  wine-shop,  saloon,  or  public 
house. 

25 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

and  Utopian.  In  society,  a  gradual  levelling: 
all  the  great  historical  families  crumbling  down 
under  the  erosion  of  political  despair  and  econo- 
mic decadence ;  whilst  the  enormous  middle  class, 
enriched  by  those  alluvions,  would  slowly  rise, 
until  the  old  feudal  castles  were  half  buried  in 
the  new  ground.  In  the  economic  world,  a 
prosperity  without  optimism,  as  it  was  due,  not 
to  rapidly  expanding  resources,  but  to  unremit- 
ting labour  and  cheese-paring  economy.  In 
religion,  a  scene  of  anarchy.  Catholicism,  the 
only  form  of  historical  Christianity  that  shows 
any  sign  of  vitality  in  France,  was  compromised 
in  an  unfortunate  alliance  with  political  reaction. 
Science,  once  an  idol,  had  to  confess  bankruptcy 
so  far  as  metaphysics  and  ethics  were  concerned. 
On  the  whole,  an  age  of  comfort  and  hopelessness ; 
to  all  appearances,  the  weariness  and  sadness 
of  declining  years,  the  decrepitude  of  a  nation 
bled  white  by  wars  and  revolutions;  a  flock 
without  a  shepherd,  a  people  without  a  star. 

Hence  the  cast  of  melancholy  in  French 
national  life  and  in  French  literature.  This 
gloom  was  due  to  the  tragic  century  through 
which  France  had  just  passed.  Within  the 
memory  of  Anatole  France,  Loti,  Bourget,  and 

26 


INTRODUCTION 


even  Barr^s,  the  country  had  known  defeat, 
dismemberment,  revolution:  the  Francd-German 
War  and  the  Commune.  Beyond  that,  the  harsh 
glittering  materialism  of  the  Second  Empire, 
with  its  swagger  and  corruption;  further  still, 
the  generous  Revolution  of  '48,  wrecked  in  a 
sea  of  blood ;  back  of  all,  the  gigantic  failures 
of  the  great  Revolution  and  the  First  Empire. 
Never  had  any  nation  nursed  such  exalted  hopes, 
toiled  and  striven  so  hard,  only  to  be  dashed, 
time  after  time,  from  the  heights  she  had  all  but 
attained.  The  France  that  I  knew  was  a  nation 
with  a  wounded  soul.  This  war  may  save  her. 
But  the  acceptation  of  a  new  defeat  would 
amount  to  spiritual  suicide. 

Yet  here,  again,  I  am  keenly  conscious  of  the 
divorce  between  the  daily  existence  of  actual 
men  and  women,  and  that  entity  called  "  the 
national  spirit."  As  a  collectivity,  France  was 
given  over  to  cynicism  and  despair.  Individually, 
the  French  were  probably  happier,  as  they  were 
undoubtedly  healthier,  safer,  more  prosperous, 
better  educated,  than  in  any  previous  period  of 
their  long  history.  There  was  a  curious  contrast, 
which  has  not  failed  to  strike  many  observers, 
between  the  sanity,  the  steadiness,  the  love  for 

27 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

work,  the  cheerfulness  of  the  people,  and  the 
morbidity  of  the  nation.  The  same  man  would 
feel  sick  unto  death  as  a  French  citizen — but 
well,  strong  and  prosperous  as  a  worker,  as  a 
husband,  as  a  father.  Such  a  phenomenon  is 
by  no  means  unique.  Is  there  not  an  apparent 
antinomy  between  the  average  German,  such  as 
we  knew  him  before  the  war,  a  hard^-working, 
home-loving,  peaceable  individual  addicted  to 
beer  and  music,  and  the  German  as  part  and 
parcel  of  the  national  identity  ?  Can  Gemuth- 
lichkeit  and  Schrecklichkeit  cohabit  in  the  same 
Teutonic  heart  ?  Now,  which  is  the  deeper 
reality — the  collectivity  or  the  individual  ?  I 
should  be  tempted  to  answer:  the  individual. 
Many  people  are  barely  conscious  of  the  larger 
social  units ;  even  the  most  public-spirited  among 
us  think  and  feel  in  terms  of  the  State  for  but  a 
few  moments  every  day.  Yet,  the  collective 
being,  the  nation,  the  Zeitgeist,  with  its  fits  of 
enthusiasm  and  depression,  has  a  very  real  ex- 
istence, and  that  existence  affects  directly  the 
lives  of  individuals.  It  is  the  nations,  not  the 
individuals,  that  are  at  present  at  war:  but  it 
is  the  individuals  who  suffer  and  die. 

This  cast  of  despair  in  the  French  mind  is  the 

28 


INTRODUCTION 


essential  fact  in  the  last  forty  years.  It  explains, 
for  one  thing,  the  sordid  brutahty  of  the  Natural- 
istic school,  represented  by  Zola  in  the  novel, 
and  by  Henri  Becque  on  the  stage.  Anatole 
France,  Loti,  Bourget,  Barres,  do  not  belong  to 
that  school.  Indeed,  they  may  be  said  to  be 
the  leaders  of  the  opposition  and  the  reaction 
against  it.  In  spite  of  his  universal  indulgence, 
Anatole  France  damned  Zola  in  no  equivocal 
terms:  "  It  were  better  for  him  if  he  had  never 
been  born."  But  it  was  a  reaction  only  against 
the  systematic  coarseness  of  the  form :  the  pessi- 
mistic spirit  is  the  same.  Under  the  academic 
or  aristocratic  style  of  these  writers,  you  will 
find  as  sombre  a  conception  of  human  nature 
as  in  the  least  savoury  of  Zola's  works. 


§  5.  The  Conflict  of  Ideals. 

Tradition — Beauty — J  ustice. 

This  feeling  of  uneasiness  and  hopelessness 
was  not  due  to  the  absence  of  ideals  but  rather  to 
their  multiplicity.  Pulled  hither  and  thither, 
unable  to  advance,  France  grew  sceptical  and 
weary.     From    this    legion    of   ideals,    we    shall 

29 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

select  the  three  most  representative:  tradition, 
beauty,  social  justice. 

The  first  had  become  the  ideal  of  Taine,  and 
even  of  Renan,  the  undisputed  masters  of  the 
last  generation.  Under  the  positive  influence  of 
English  thought,  and  the  negative  influence  of 
the  Commune,  Taine  had  come  to  seek  national 
salvation  in  historical  continuity,  organic  devel- 
opment, "  the  wisdom  of  prejudice."  A  national 
culture  is  the  growth  of  centuries:  this  growth 
the  rationalism  of  Voltaire  and  the  antinatural 
experiments  of  the  Jacobins  have  checked. 
France  is  very  sick  indeed;  and  the  axe  of  the 
Jacobins  is  threatening  the  few  mighty  roots 
that  still  keep  the  tree  alive — patriotism,  pro- 
perty, the  family,  religion.  This  school  of  thought 
is  frankly  conservative,  and  even  reactionary; 
as  represented  by  Taine  himself,  it  is  hard,  posi- 
tive, pessimistic,  thorough-going  ;  unlovable 
and  yet  tonic.  We  find  among  its  disciples 
Brunetiere,  Maurras,  Paul  Bourget,  and,  in  his 
second  avatar,  Maurice  Barr^s.  This  ideal,  in 
a  sense,  is  self-destructive:  for  the  Revolution 
has  become  part  and  parcel  of  the  French  tradi- 
tion, and  perhaps  the  most  essential  part.  Tra- 
ditionalists cannot  wipe  away  a  century  and  a 

30 


INTRODUCTION 


quarter  of  history.  Perhaps  it  were  better  that 
the  Revolution  had  never  broken  out.  But  facts 
are  facts,  against  which  no  "might-have-been" 
will  ever  prevail.  Reactionary  writers  pride 
themselves  on  their  "  sense  for  realities,"  and 
jeer  at  millennial  dreams.  But  the  difference 
between  Utopia  and  anachronism  is  perhaps  not 
so  great  as  they  imagine;  and  their  idealized 
Ancient  Regime  may  be  fully  as  fanciful  as  the 
golden  age  prophesied  by  the  early  Socialists. 

^  By  the  side  of  the  Traditionalists,  we  have — 
shall  we  say  the  Esthetes,  or  the  ^Estheticists  ? 
— the  worshippers  of  pure  beauty.  Gautier  had 
preached  art  for  art's  sake  in  the  early  thirties; 
and  this  doctrine  underlies  much  of  Romanticism, 
from  Chateaubriand  to  Baudelaire.  It  was 
reserved  for  Renan,  at  the  very  close  of  his 
career,  to  enlarge  the  cult  of  beauty  so  as  to 
make  it  a  rule  of  life.  ^Estheticism  may  be  used 
as  the  basis  of  a  very  strict  code  of  morals :  in 
Renan  himself,  it  developed  into  an  amused 
indulgence  akin  to  laxity.  The  aesthetic  ten- 
dency is  represented  by  Barrfes  in  his  early  novels ; 
by  Pierre  Loti,  but  with  a  strange  background 
of  Protestant  puritanism  which  imparts  a  unique 
depth   of  melancholy  to  his  exotic  love  affairs; 

31 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

by  Pierre  Loiiys,  consistent  enough  in  his  beau- 
tifully finished  pictures  of  ancient  and  modern 
depravation ;  and  chiefly  by  Anatole  France,  who 
might  be  called  Renan's  younger  brother. 

The  third  ideal  is  a  craving  for  enlightenment 
and  social  justice.  It  continues  the  "  philo- 
sophical "  movement  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
and  the  humanitarianism  of  1848.  Seventy 
years  ago,  democracy  had  impregnated  the  minds 
of  the  great  French  writers — George  Sand,  Victor 
Hugo,  Lamennais,  Michelet,  Pierre  Leroux, 
Proudhon.  After  a  long  eclipse,  a  period  during 
which  the  harsh  pseudo-science  of  Karl  Marx 
claimed  sole  right  to  the  name  Socialism, 
the  idealism  of  '48  resumed  its  place  in 
French  thought.  Through  the  influence  of  a 
generous  and  far-sighted  leader,  Jean  Jaur^s, 
Socialism  took  the  right  side  in  the  great  spiritual 
conflict  of  the  Dreyfus  case;  and  as  a  reward, 
it  won  over  the  two  foremost  writers  of  the  day, 
the  two  extremes  of  French  literature — Zola  the 
plebeian  and  Anatole  France  the  fastidious 
artist.  But  the  victory  remained  incomplete. 
Zola  was  no  longer  at  his  best  when  he  wrote 
his  Gospels,  one  of  which.  Work,  is  an  adapta- 
tion of  Fourierism.    The  dull  reaction  of  the 

32 


INTRODUCTION 


last  ten  or  twelve  years  drove  Anatole  France 
back  into  alternatives  of  flippancy  and  despair. 
Romain  RoUand  is  Yea  and  Nay. 

So  far  as  literature  is  concerned,  Traditionalism 
is  by  far  the  most  powerful  of  these  three  ten- 
dencies; and  so  long  as  the  war  spirit  remains 
in  the  ascendant,  there  will  be  no  chance  for 
the  democratic  ideal  to  assume  leadership. 

Tradition,  beauty,  social  justice  !  Hard  is  the 
lot  of  the  conscientious  man,  in  a  world  in  which 
the  ideal  has  thus  become  disintegrated.  Who 
does  not  hate  the  thought  of  sacrificing  any  of 
the  three  ?  Tradition :  how  can  a  Frenchman 
fail  to  be  a  born  traditionalist,  with  the  monu- 
ments of  immemorial  culture  everywhere  round 
him,  with  the  masterpieces  of  a  thousand  years 
singing  in  his  memory  ?  Yet  he  knows  that 
bigotry,  intellectual  laziness,  the  selfish  defence 
of  unmerited  privileges,  use  tradition  as  their 
bulwark.  Beauty:  but  why  have  men  made 
her  name  synonymous  with  levity  and  looseness, 
the  least  beautiful  things  in  the  world ;  and  why 
has  narrow-minded  virtue  so  often  waged  war 
against  beauty,  however  innocent  ?  Justice : 
but  do  we  not  see  the  grimace  of  rage  and  envy 
behind  her  impassive  mask,  and  the  nightmare 
D  33 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

of  enforced  equality  behind  her  fair  promises  ? 
There  is  no  ideal  that  does  not  clash  with  another ; 
none  that  is  not  smirched  by  the  excesses  of  its 
devotees.  A  world  out  of  joint,  if  ever  there 
was  one;  the  query  of  jesting  Pilate  still  un- 
answered, and  the  philosophy  of  Ecclesiastes 
unrefuted. 

Such  was  the  atmosphere  in  which  our  writers 
lived,  such  were  the  problems  they  had  to  face. 
None  of  these  problems  did  they  settle,  even  to 
their  own  satisfaction.  In  Loti  as  in  Barres,  in 
Anatole  France  as  in  Paul  Bourget,  even  in 
Romain  Rolland,  the  note  of  doubt,  of  anguish, 
is  stronger  at  the  end  than  at  the  beginning  of 
their  careers.  They  did  not  settle  the  riddles 
of  man's  destiny:  but  was  it  nothing  to  tackle 
them  so  boldly  ?  On  the  whole,  the  impression 
you  will  get  from  an  unbiassed  survey  of  modern 
French  fiction  will  be  one  of  candour  and  fear- 
lessness. These  men  may  be  drifting  towards 
unknown  abysses:  at  any  rate,  their  eyes  will 
remain  open  to  the  end,  and  their  lips  are  still 
able  to  smile.  A  sacrificed  generation  perhaps, 
whirling  in  apparent  aimlessness,  doomed  to 
failure:  but  not  unworthy  of  Pascal  and  Vigny, 

34 


INTRODUCTION 


who  taught  us  the  dignity  of  thought,  greater 
than  all  the  blind  forces  that  may  threaten  to 
crush  it.  They  have  lost  their  way,  but  not  their 
souls ;  and  far  from  scorning  them  for  stumbling 
in  the  dark,  we  the  happier  pilgrims  whose  star 
is  distant,  but  steadfast  and  clear,  we  bow  our 
heads  in  gratitude  before  these  wanderers. 


35 


CHAPTER  II 

ANATOLE  FRANCE:   BEFORE  THE 
DREYFUS  CASE 


CHAPTER  II. 

ANATOLE  FRANCE:  BEFORE  THE  DREYFUS  CASE. 

§  I .  A  General  Survey  of  Anatole  France's 
Career. 

A  personal  glimpse — France's  supremacy — ^The  four  periods 
in  his  career. 

I  HAD  but  once  the  privilege  of  seeing  and  hearing 
Anatole  France.  It  was  on  the  4th  of  March, 
1900,  at  the  height  of  the  political  and  spiritual 
storm  caused  by  the  Dreyfus  Case.  Unforget- 
table hours  !  The  immediate  issue  was  small : 
the  fate  of  one  individual,  whose  personality  did 
not  call  for  warm  sympathy,  and  whose  ideals 
were  those  of  his  persecutors.  But  the  air  was 
electric  with  strange  hopes.  We  felt  as  our 
ancestors  must  have  felt  in  the  tragic  fraternal 
dawn  of  the  years  1789  and  1848.  Paris  and 
all  the  great  cities  were  soon  studded  with 
reading  circles  and  social  centres,  ambitiously 
called  "  Popular  Universities."  The  second  dis- 
trict of  Paris,  a  bulwark  of  reaction,  had  finally 
followed  the  example  of  the  poorer  quarters. 

39 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

It  was  to  have  its  university,  symbolically  named 
"  The  Awakening."  And  the  opening  of  this 
new  citadel  of  science  and  democracy  was  to  be 
celebrated  by  addresses  from  Jaures  and  Anatole 
France.  The  Southern  bombast  of  Jaures,  the 
loud  harshness  of  his  voice,  the  vulgarity  of  his 
appearance,  made  a  strong  and  painful  impression 
upon  me,  much  as  I  respected  the  man,  his 
character,  his  message,  and  even  his  art.  But 
Anatole  France  !  I  know  what  loyalty,  and 
devotion,  and  hero-worship  mean;  I  have  seen 
Edward  VII.  at  the  time  of  his  coronation;  I 
have  seen  Theodore  Roosevelt  on  his  return 
from  Africa,  and  before  he  had  ventured  into 
more  treacherous  jungles;  I  have  seen  the 
Peerless  Leader  himself,  in  the  auditorium  of 
a  democratic  stronghold:  but  never  have  I  felt 
the  same  delicate  harmony  between  the  hero  of 
the  occasion  and  his  admirers,  the  same  ex- 
quisite blend  of  enthusiasm  and  tactful  restraint, 
of  familiarity  and  respect,  as  in  that  Parisian 
meeting,  sixteen  very  long  years  ago.  Anatole 
France  was  no  idol,  no  pontiff;  he  was  addressed, 
in  good  socialistic  parlance,  as  "  comrade." 
Still  less  was  he  a  circus  curiosity,  a  "  two- 
headed  calf,"  as  Colonel  Roosevelt  bluntly  said, 
40 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


in  the  course  of  his  recent  Western  trip,  with 
reference  to  a  rival  attraction.  With  no  hered- 
itary, social,  religious  or  political  authority,  by 
the  mere  prestige  of  his  courage  and  of  his  art, 
he  was  a  Master.  This  meeting  was  one  of  the 
deepest  experiences  in  my  life.  Those  who 
think  of  the  people  of  Paris  as  hopelessly  frivo- 
lous, and  of  Anatole  France  as  a  delightful, 
decadent  writer  of  sinful  trifles,  might  have 
received  from  the  orators  and  from  the  audience 
of  that  day  a  lesson  in  genuine  seriousness  and 
the  sine  qua  non  of  moral  worth.  I  shall 
have  to  express  in  no  equivocal  terms  my  com- 
plete disagreement  with  much  of  France's 
philosophy,  and  my  contempt — there  is  no  other 
word — for  certain  aspects  of  his  talent :  for  that 
very  reason,  I  wanted  to  strike  at  the  very  first 
the  deep  note  of  appreciation,  and  almost  of 
reverence,  which  I  should  like  to  remain  audible 
throughout  these  two  chapters. 

For  the  primacy  of  Anatole  France  in  French 
literature  is  unchallenged,  as  unchallenged  as  the 
primacy  of  Rodin  in  art,  or  that  of  Bergson  in 
philosophy.  He  is  the  delight  of  the  elite,  and 
at  least  a  glorious  name  for  the  people.  The 
Conservatives  do  not  forget  that  for  many  years 

41 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

he  was  one  of  them ;  they  still  relish  his  exquisite 
style,  his  rich,  allusive  humour,  his  courtly 
manner,  his  love  of  literary  traditions.  The 
Socialists  have  read  his  speeches,  his  tracts,  and 
many  of  his  stories  republished  in  popular  form. 
I  understand  that  he  has  volunteered,  and 
begged,  at  seventy — he,  the  anti-militarist,  the 
anarchist,  the  dilettante — the  favour  of  wearing 
the  French  uniform:  so  he  may  profit  by  the 
general  reconciliation,  the  "  Sacred  Union," 
which  war  is  supposed  to  have  brought  about 
among  all  Frenchmen,  and  he  may  die  regretted 
equally  by  Prospero  and  by  Caliban. 

I  had  seen  pictures  of  Anatole  France,  in 
monkish  garb,  with  a  background  of  formidable- 
looking  books:  his  appearance  was  a  surprise  to 
me,  but  hardly  a  disappointment.  There  was 
little  of  the  scholar  about  him,  and  nothing  of 
the  book-worm;  still  less  could  any  traces  of 
ecclesiastical  influence  be  found.  His  best- 
known  avatars — Sylvestre  Bonnard,  the  un- 
worldly antiquarian;  Lucien  Bergeret,  the 
humble,  awkward,  puny  hero  of  pure  intelligence ; 
Jerome  Coignard,  the  fat,  jolly,  disreputable 
theologian — cannot  claim  to  be  his  portraits. 
Tall,  well-proportioned,  elegantly  dressed,  with 

42 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


imperial  moustache  and  goatee,  then  just  turning 
white,  Anatole  France  looked  for  all  the  world 
like  a  cavalry  officer.  One  of  his  intellectual 
forbears,  who  deserved  before  him  the  name  "  an 
ironical  Benedictine,"  Sainte-Beuve,  sighed  to 
be,  if  he  had  to  live  again,  a  lieutenant  in  the 
hussars.  And  Renan  came  very  near  confessing 
the  same  yearning.  Nature  was  kinder  to 
Anatole  France  than  to  his  two  masters  in 
scepticism  and  epicurianism.  A  cavalry  officer 
with  the  erudition  of  Bayle  and  the  wit  of 
Voltaire — not  such  a  bad  combination  after  all, 
so  far  as  this  world  is  concerned. 

"  Absurd  alone  is  he  who  never  changes."  We 
shall  have  to  study  not  one  Anatole  France,  but 
several,  in  that  life  which  has  already  over- 
spanned  the  allotted  three-score  and  ten.  For  the 
sake  of  clearness,  I  shall  distinguish  in  his  career 
four  and  perhaps  five  periods.  But  France  is 
not  one  of  those  systematic  writers  who  change 
radically  and  all  of  a  sudden.  His  life  has  been 
outwardly  uneventful;  his  soul,  from  the  first, 
elusive  and  wavy.  So  his  evolution  did  not 
proceed  by  jerks ;  it  may  rather  be  likened  to  a 
succession  of  finely  modulated  chords :  the  ends 
of  the  series  may  be  wide  apart,  yet  nothing  in 

43 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

the  transition  has  jarred  the  most  sensitive  ear. 
When  we  read  over  France's  first  books  with  the 
knowledge  derived  from  his  later  works,  we 
wonder  whether  any  new  element  has  been  added 
in  the  course  of  years  to  that  subtle  and  wonder- 
fully complex  personality.  The  evolution  of 
Anatole  France  is  rather  the  growth  and  enrich- 
ment of  our  understanding  and  appreciation  of 
him.  Our  earliest  conception  of  Anatole  France 
is  that  of  a  singularly  gentle  spirit,  full  of 
curiosity  as  well  as  kindness;  free  and  open- 
minded  as  beseems  a  scholar,  and  not  afraid  of 
adventurous  speculation,  but  whose  quaint 
paradoxes  were  deemed  innocuous,  so  entirely 
did  they  seem  divorced  from  real  life,  so  con- 
servative were  the  tastes  and  prejudices  of  the 
author.  This  is  the  pure  and  idyllic  Anatole 
France  of  The  Book  of  My  Friend  and  The 
Crime  of  Sylvestre  Bonnard — a  lover  of  children, 
priests  and  old  scholars,  himself  a  mixture  of 
the  scholar,  the  priest  and  the  child;  a  Renan 
expurgated  for  the  use  of  orthodox  families. 

In  his  early  books  and  articles,  the  deHcate 
irony  of  Anatole  France  pricked  the  bubbles  of 
human  absurdity;  but  it  did  so  with  smiling 
sympathy,  and  it  respected  implicitly  the  funda- 

44 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


mental  traditions  of  the  race.  Under  the  influ- 
ence of  Chateaubriand  and  Renan,  Anatole 
France  admired,  as  an  archaeologist,  as  an  artist, 
even  as  a  man,  things  which  a  pure  Voltairian 
rationalist  would  have  called  superstitions.  But 
irony  cannot  long  be  kept  within  bounds : 
gradually,  the  gentle  wit  of  Anatole  France 
became  more  destructive.  He  remained  clearly 
conscious  of  the  artistic  witchery  of  the  past; 
but  he  was  even  more  clearly  conscious  of  its 
incongruities.  Written  in  the  tone  of  the  Lives 
of  the  Saints,  Thais  is  a  satire  on  early  Christian 
asceticism.  Beyond  Renan,  beyond  Chateau- 
briand, he  went  back  to  his  veritable  spiritual 
ancestors  Voltaire  and  Bayle.  Without  any 
personal  or  partisan  interests  to  serve,  he  waged 
war  on  "  prejudices  and  superstitions."  Who- 
ever has  read  that  breviary  of  elegant  anarchism, 
The  Opinions  of  Jerome  Coignard,  will  realize 
that  the  terms  "  prejudices  and  superstitions," 
in  his  mind,  applied  to  every  dogma  and  to  every 
institution.  Amid  these  ruins  of  all  authorities, 
what  guide  shall  we  follow  ?  None  but  our 
senses,  in  all  possible  meanings  of  the  word. 
This  leads  us  to  materialism,  under  a  veil  of 
absolute  scepticism;  to  the  enjoyment  of  art. as 

45 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

the  most  delicate  feast  we  can  give  our  senses; 
to  enjoyment  pure  and  simple — even  when  it  is 
neither  simple  nor  pure — whenever  and  wherever 
it  can  be  snatched;  in  a  word  to  sensuousness, 
and  even  to  sensuality.  Of  this  consistent 
creed,  the  Red  Lily  is  the  gospel. 

However,  during  that  very  period,  the  germs 
of  positive  Voltairianism,  unheeded,  were  not 
lacking;  and  by  positive  Voltairianism,  I  mean 
those  purely  human  qualities  which  may  be 
carried  to  the  point  of  heroism :  intellectual 
courage,  love  for  freedom  and  justice,  humani- 
tarian sympathies.  In  his  controversy  with 
Bourget  concerning  The  Disciple,  in  many 
articles  in  praise  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
Anatole  France  revealed  himself  the  descendant 
of  those  philosophers  who  prepared  the  great 
Revolution. 

So  we  need  not  be  astonished  that  Anatole 
France,  the  universal  ironist,  should,  at  the  time 
of  the  Dreyfus  case,  have  made  up  his  mind, 
with  no  less  promptitude  and  decision  than  his 
rival  in  Pyrrhonism,  Jules  Lemaitre — but  on 
the  opposite  side.  He  found  himself  with  the 
defenders  of  truth,  justice  and  pity.  And,  with 
touching  humility,  he  attempted  to  be  a  little 

46 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


child  again,  as  it  were;  he  went  back  to  school, 
and  he  accepted,  because  of  their  deep  harmony 
with  his  aspirations,  the  tenets  of  a  most  rigid 
orthodoxy,  the  bonds  of  an  iron  discipline,  those 
of  the  Socialist  party.  We  have  then  a  third 
Anatole,  no  longer  idyllic,  but  no  longer  flippant ; 
whose  irony  is  of  less  airy,  fantastic  flight,  because 
it  is  weighted  with  purpose;  less  supreme  as  an 
artist,  less  free  as  a  thinker,  greater  as  a  citizen. 

Finally,  the  unworthy  compromise  which 
closed  the  Dreyfus  case,  the  disheartening  failure 
of  Radicalism — once  an  ideal,  now  a  machine; 
the  verbosity  of  some  Sociahsts,  the  bigotry  of 
others,  the  sombre  violence  of  syndicalism,  the 
revival  of  militarism  in  Europe,  cast  their  gloom 
on  Anatole  France  as  on  the  rest  of  his  country- 
men; and  his  last  books  were  either  trifling,  or 
full  of  nihilism  and  despair.  Of  this  fourth 
period,  the  best  and  most  typical  product  is 
Penguin  Island. 

Will  the  Great  War  open  a  fifth  period  ? 
Who  knows  ?  We  may,  in  due  season,  venture 
our  own  hypothesis.  It  is  unfortunately  but 
too  probable  that  at  any  moment  Death,  a 
greater  ironist  than  France  himself,  will  set  at 
nought  our  attempts  at  prophecy. 

47 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


§   2.   Formation   and   First   Period:  Gentle 
Irony. 

Early  surroundings — Education — The   Crime    of  Sylvestre 
Bonnard — The  Book  of  my  Friend. 

Jacques  Anatole  Thibault — for  such  is  the 
true  name  of  Anatole  France — was  born  in  the 
heart  of  Paris  in  1844.  Of  the  district  where 
he  was  born,  and  where  practically  the  whole  of 
his  childhood  was  spent,  he  speaks  in  terms  of 
almost  lyrical  tenderness.  And  well  he  may, 
for  there  are  few  places  in  the  world  so  fraught 
with  beauty  and  with  historical  associations. 
From  his  father's  shop  on  Quai  Malaquais,  he 
could  see,  across  the  River  Seine,  the  inter- 
minable galleries  of  the  Louvre;  up  river,  that 
is  to  say,  towards  the  east,  the  humpy  dome  of 
the  Institute,  unpretending,  somewhat  awkward, 
but  kindly  and  venerable  like  Sylvestre  Bonnard 
himself;  beyond,  the  Island  of  the  City,  like  a 
great  vessel  anchored  in  mid-stream;  in  the 
City,  the  feudal  turrets  of  the  Conciergerie,  the 
massive  towers  of  Notre-Dame,  and,  in  contrast, 
those  two  miracles  of  Gothic  grace,  the  slender, 
needle-like  spires  of  the  Cathedral  and  of  the 
Sainte-Chapelle ;  farther  still,  the  Renaissance 

48 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


belfry  of  the  Town  Hall,  and  a  forest  of  domes 
and  towers ;  westward,  the  masses  of  foliage  of 
the  Tuileries  and  the  Champa-Elysees,  and  the 
rising  ground  leading  to  the  great  Triumphal 
Arch.  There  are  more  abundant  rivers,  swifter- 
flowing  and  more  picturesque;  there  are  town 
sites  of  bolder  outHnes,  skies  of  less  neutral  hue, 
monuments  of  more  imposing  size  and  more 
striking  beauty :  for  a  thoughtful  observer,  there 
is  no  scene  that  sends  forth  a  deeper  appeal. 
Ten  centuries  of  war,  labour,  prayer  and  artistic 
activity,  the  blood  and  the  dreams  of  forty 
generations  were  required  to  finish  that  picture, 
so  rich  in  its  apparent  simpHcity,  so  harmonious 
in  its  subtle  heterogeneity.  Along  the  quay 
wall,  on  the  parapet,  are  boxes  of  second-hand 
books,  the  dear  bouquins  that  every  Parisian 
has  picked  up  and  fondled  for  many  a  happy 
hour.  There,  in  the  penny  department,  you 
will  find  the  most  wonderful  chaos  of  pamphlets 
in  all  stages  of  dilapidation.  But  the  calf- 
bound  volumes  of  the  eighteenth  century  are 
still  plentiful  and  cheap — marvellously  preserved 
in  spite  of  all  their  adventures  and  their  open-air 
life,  with  never  a  loose  leaf  to  mar  the  smooth- 
ness of  their  red  edges.  Across  the  way,  the 
E  49 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

ground-floor  of  the  houses — most  of  which  were 
built  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries 
— is  occupied  by  curiosity  shops:  art  dealers, 
sellers  of  ancient  furniture,  armours,  prints,  and 
old  books  of  rarer  description  than  those  in  the 
open  stalls.  It  was  in  one  of  those  bookstores 
that  young  Thibault  was  brought  up.  The 
material  circumstances  of  his  parents  were 
narrow;  but  the  street  and  the  shop  opened 
infinite  perspectives,  vista  within  vista,  into  the 
dim  Nevermore.  Anatole  France  has  said,  with 
pardonable  pride :  "  A  boy  brought  up  amid  such 
surroundings  can  never  be  quite  stupid."  And 
his  mind  has  been  repeatedly  likened  to  an 
antiquary's  store.  Better  still,  for  it  does  not 
lack  life  and  unity,  it  might  be  compared  to  the 
city  picture  that  spread  itself  before  his  young 
eyes.  If  we  could  evoke  the  Spirit  of  Paris, 
ancient  and  modern,  the  aspirations  and  fancies 
that  expressed  themselves  in  those  piles  of  stone, 
it  would  be  none  other  but  the  rich  and  smiling 
mind  of  Anatole  France  himself. 

M.  Thibault,  Anatole 's  father,  was  no  heartless 
buyer  and  seller,  but  a  lover  and  collector  of 
books.  By  his  own  efforts  he  had  become  quite 
a  scholar,  and  was  particularly  well  informed 

50 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


about  the  great  Revolution,  which  he  held  in 
abomination.  Anatole  France  showed  from  early- 
childhood  that  passion  for  books  and  for  erudi- 
tion, which  is  so  strongly  marked  in  all  his 
favourite  heroes,  Sylvestre  Bonnard,  Jerome 
Coignard,  Lucien  Bergeret.  It  is  not  every 
child,  not  even  every  college  graduate,  that 
dreams  to  write  a  History  of  France  in  fifty- 
volumes,  with  all  the  details,  beginning  with 
Teutobochus.  When,  in  his  old  age,  he  com- 
posed his  painstaking,  often  delightful,  and 
thoroughly  unconvincing  History  of  Joan  of 
Arc,  the  famous  novelist  was  not  so  entirely  out 
of  his  element  as  superficial  critics  affected  to 
believe. 

The  bookseller  had  brought  to  Paris  the  strong 
monarchical  convictions  of  his  native  Anjou, 
Among  his  customers  and  friends  were  not  a  few 
old  men,  born  under  the  Revolution,  perhaps 
even  during  the  last  few  years  of  the  ancient 
regime,  and  who  mourned  with  him  the  downfall 
of  the  last  Bourbon  King.  Anatole  France  has 
sketched  for  us  several  of  these  amiable  fossils : 
through  them,  the  reign  of  Louis  XVI.,  for  us 
almost  as  remote  as  that  of  Charlemagne,  was 
to  him  a  living  tradition.     In  his  style,  in  some 

51 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


of  his  ideas,  he  is  still  a  man  of  the  eighteenth 
century. 

He  studied  at  College  Stanislas,  a  hybrid 
secondary  school,  under  the  control  of  the 
Church,  yet  assimilated  with  the  Government 
establishments.  He  was  a  good  scholar  in 
Greek  and  Latin:  but  the  most  perfect  stylist 
of  his  generation  was  reported  as  doing  poor 
work  in  his  French  themes:  he  was  lacking  in 
taste,  his  masters  said,  and,  of  course,  they 
ought  to  know.  The  eighteenth  century  and 
classical  antiquity — late  Hellenism  in  particular 
— were  the  chief  influences  in  the  formation  of 
his  mind.  Catholicism  took  little  hold  of  him. 
He  tells  us  how,  at  the  age  of  five  or  six,  he 
attempted  the  career  of  a  martyr  and  saint.  He 
stood  on  the  kitchen  fountain,  in  pious  imitation 
of  Saint  Simon  Stylites;  he  tore  his  clothes  and 
dragged  them  in  the  mire,  in  emulation  of  Saint 
Benedict  Labre;  he  stuffed  horsehair  down  his 
back,  as  the  best  substitute  for  the  sackcloth 
of  the  penitents;  and  he  wanted  to  be  an  an- 
chorite in  the  Botanical  Garden.  But  the  cause 
of  this  heroism  was  of  this  world,  worldly;  he 
wanted  to  be  able  to  print  on  his  visiting  cards : 
Hermit  and  Saint  of  the  Calendar.  Later  on, 
52 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


he  tells  us  how  irksome  the  practice  of  confession 
was  to  him;  not  that  he  objected  to  telling  the 
priest  his  sins;  but  because  he  could  not  find 
any  to  tell.  He  tried  picking  some  at  random 
out  of  a  book  which  contained  a  full  list:  but 
their  mysterious  names — prevarication,  simony, 
concupiscence — frightened  him.  Fortunately,  the 
cap  of  his  friend  Fontanet  gave  him  opportunities 
for  more  appropriate  offences:  he  would  snatch 
it,  hide  it,  fill  it  with  sand,  throw  it  into  the 
gutter,  and  thus  be  spared  the  humiliation  of 
presenting  himself  before  the  tribunal  of  peni- 
tence with  a  lamentably  blank  conscience. 
Now,  it  is  a  fact  that  confession  arouses,  even 
in  very  young  children,  of  less  exquisite  sensitive- 
ness than  Anatole,  crises  of  morbid  introspection, 
and  even  of  dangerous  despair:  his  indifference 
is  symptomatic.  He  is  what  William  James 
calls  a  once-born  soul,  or  what,  more  bluntly, 
might  be  called  a  Pagan.  He  lacks  the  funda- 
mental experience  of  religion,  the  conviction  of 
sin.  A  tremendous  lack  !  I  understand  the 
pride  of  the  Scottish  lady  who  said:  "  I  was 
brought  up  on  total  depravity . ' '  Anatole  France 's 
early  religion  was  nought  but  religiosity:  the 
aesthetic    enjoyment    of   Church    ceremonies,  a 

S3 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

vague  melancholy,  a  still  vaguer  yearning  ever 
doomed  to  disappointment.  It  must  be  said  in 
extenuation  that  the  atmosphere  of  a  fashionable 
Parisian  school  was  not  favourable  to  deep 
spiritual  emotions :  the  formalism  and  frivolity 
of  aristocratic  society  permeated  the  College,  in 
spite  of  the  efforts  of  the  priests.  Renan  had 
the  same  experience  when  he  was  a  pupil  of 
Mgr.  Dupanloup.  Like  Renan,  like  Voltaire, 
Anatole  France  preserved  his  personal  liking  for 
priests ;  like  them,  he  became  one  of  the  leaders 
of  anticlerical  free-thought.  The  delightful 
chapters  on  Lantaigne  and  Guitrel,  in  the  first 
part  of  Contemporary  History,  could  not  have 
been  written  with  such  sympathetic  insight,  with 
such  piercing  and  yet  tender  irony,  had  France 
been  brought  up  an  infidel. 

Anatole  France  began  his  literary  career  in 
leisurely  fashion.  Books,  his  old  friends,  sup- 
ported him  long  before  he  became  an  author: 
he  was  a  librarian,  and  a  reader  for  the  excellent 
firm  of  Alphonse  Lemerre,  the  publisher  of 
contemporary  poets.  If  we  pass  over  a  brief 
critical  study  of  Alfred  de  Vigny,  France's  first 
publications  were  two  volumes  of  verse,  elegant 
without  originality,  revealing  a  certain  deftness 

54 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


of  touch,  a  wide  range  of  reading  and  interests, 
and  but  little  inspiration.     Then  appeared  two 
short   novels  Jocaste  and    The  Lean   Cat.     The 
former  is   a  good  average  story:  in  plot  and 
style,  it  may  be  defined  as  Alphonse  Daudet 
diluted,  just  as  Daudet  is  Zola  thinned  out:  a 
third  decoction  of  naturalism.     The  second  is  a 
readable  skit  on  some  curious  districts  of  Parisian 
Bohemia — the  black  belt  thereof.     The  eloquent 
mulatto  Godet-Laterrasse,  who  is  preparing  an 
epoch-making  work  on  The  Regeneration  of  the 
World  through  the   Black  Race,   is   an   amusing 
puppet    rather    than    a    convincing    character. 
But  General  Telemachus   is   portrayed   at   full 
length,  and  with  delightful  humour.     He  is  a 
suburban  innkeeper,  who  has  once  commanded 
a  horde  of  barefooted  dusky  heroes  under  His 
Majesty  Soulouque,  Emperor  of  Hayti;  and  the 
wistfulness   with    which    he   gazes    on    his    old 
gorgeous  uniform  elicits  a  smile  free  from  bitter- 
ness  and   contempt.     The  General   is   a   hoary 
child;  but  he  is  a  man  and  a  brother  for  all  that. 
This  quality  of  kindly  humour  is  rare  in  French 
literature:  rarer  than  the  frank  broad  laugh  of 
Rabelais  or  the  sardonic  smile  of  Voltaire.     It 
was    the    keynote    of    The    Crime    of  Sylvestre 

55 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

Bonnard,  the  first  of  Anatole  France's  master- 
pieces, and  still  perhaps  the  most  delightful. 
The  author  was  then  thirty-seven  years  old:  he 
could  already  interpret  with  sympathy  the 
thoughts  and  feehngs  of  his  elderly  hero, 
Sylvestre  Bonnard,  member  of  the  Institute. 
Sylvestre,  who  is  supposed  to  relate  the  story, 
is  a  scholar;  and,  of  all  branches  of  scholarship, 
he  has  elected  the  driest — drier  than  the  very 
sands  of  the  desert,  medieval  archaeology.  To 
outsiders,  he  is  nought  but  the  typical  book- 
worm :  stooping  in  his  ill-fitting  garments ;  short- 
sighted, awkward  of  gait,  absent-minded,  un- 
practical, tyrannized  over  by  his  faithful  and 
grumpy  old  servant;  a  child,  and  a  dull  child 
at  that,  in  the  daily  transactions  of  life;  his 
heart  shrivelled,  to  all  appearances,  under  the 
desiccating  influences  of  celibacy.  The  type  has 
been  sketched  often  enough:  skilfully  done,  it 
might  afford  a  certain  amount  of  mild  amusement. 
But  we  have  Sylvestre  Bonnard  self-revealed 
before  us,  and  we  see  what  treasures  of  wit,  of 
kindness,  of  imagination,  of  dreams  and  yearning, 
lie  hidden  behind  his  unpretending  appearance. 
For  one  thing,  Sylvestre  has  not  lost  all  sense 
of  proportion :  much  as  he  loves  archaeology  and 
56 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


philology,  he  knows  that  the  fate  of  the  world 
does  not  depend  upon  the  old  manuscript  of 
Jehan  Toumouille,  which  he  seeks  in  vain  as 
far 'as  Palermo.  He  remembers  how  ardently  he 
longed  once  for  a  certain  doll — a  hideous  doll, 
quite  unworthy  of  his  sex  and  age,  for  he  was 
then  nearly  eight  years  old;  and  he  cannot  help 
likening  his  earliest  to  his  latest  caprice.  When 
he  tells  us  of  Prince  and  Princess  Trepof,  who 
are  scouring  the  world  in  search  of  match-boxes 
to  complete  their  queer  collection,  we  under- 
stand the  moral  of  the  fable:  there  is  a  good 
deal  of  the  match-box  collector  in  every  devotee 
of  science.  Bonnard  is  an  archaeologist:  but  he 
is  also  a  child  of  Paris,  and  he  has  not  unlearnt 
the  gentle  art  of  smiling  at  his  own  pursuits. 
His  eyes  are  not  so  dim  that  he  does  not  notice 
distress  among  his  neighbours;  and,  unpractical 
though  he  be,  he  knows  how  to  give  orders  and 
exert  himself  in  the  cause  of  charity.  The  first 
part  of  the  book,  "  The  Log,"  is  the  story  of 
such  a  kind  deed,  which,  long  forgotten,  brings 
its  unexpected  and  most  fitting  reward.  A  poor 
couple,  the  Coccoz,  have  been  allowed  to  occupy 
a  garret  in  the  same  house  as  Sylvestre,  whilst 
the  leaky  roof  was  undergoing  repairs:  the  old 

57 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

scholar  orders  his  servant  to  give  them  food 
and  fuel,  and  in  particular  a  big  log,  a  real 
Christmas  log.  Mr.  Coccoz  dies;  Mrs.  Coccoz 
and  her  child  vanish.  Years  afterwards,  chasing 
as  far  as  Sicily  an  elusive  manuscript  of  the 
Golden  Legend,  Sylvestre  Bonnard  comes  across 
a  Princess  Trepof,  in  whom  he  naturally  fails 
to  recognize  poor  little  Mrs.  Coccoz.  He  returns 
baffled  in  his  quest:  the  MS.  has  left  Sicily  to 
be  sold  by  auction  in  Paris.  It  soars  to  a  price 
far  beyond  the  reach  of  a  modest  archaeologist. 
But  when  Bonnard  goes  home,  he  finds  a  Yule 
Log,  hollowed  out — and  within,  on  a  bed  of 
violets  of  Parma,  the  precious  manuscript  itself. 
Princess  Trepof  had  paid  the  debt  of  Mme. 
Coccoz. 

In  the  second  part,  "  Jeanne  Alexandre,"  we 
have  the  key  to  that  perennial  youthfulness  of 
the  old  bachelor's  heart.  There  has  been  a 
romance  in  his  life — a  humble,  almost  silent 
romance,  and  he  has  remained  faithful  to  the 
memory  of  the  girl  who  jilted  him.  Fate  wills 
it  that  he  should  come  across  the  grand- 
daughter* of  his  early  love.  He  realizes  that 
"  he  had  played  with  books  as  a  child  plays 
*  In  early  editions  the  daughter. 

58 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


with   hucklebones."     Henceforth    his    declining 
years  will  have  a  meaning  and  a  purpose :  Clemen- 
tine's grand-daughter    is  poor:   he  will  protect 
her,  and — the  eternal  problem  of  French  parents 
— find  a  dowry  for  her.     How  he  rescues  her, 
by  a  sort  of  elopement,  from  a  boarding-school 
where  she  was  cruelly  treated ;  how  she  becomes 
the  grace  and  cheer  of  his  lonely  hearth;  how 
she  falls  in  love  with,  and  marries,  an  eligible 
young  man,  also  an  archaeologist ;  how  Sylvestre 
plans  to  sell  his  library  to  make  up  her  dowry, 
only  reserving  a  few  cherished  books;  how  the 
sacrifice  is  beyond  his  strength,  and  how,  one 
by   one,  he  steals  from  Jeanne's  dowry  those 
books  that  he  cannot  bear  to  let  go  (this  is  the 
"  crime  "  referred  to  in  the  title):  these  slight, 
commonplace,  undramatic  events  are  sufficient 
to  keep  up  the  interest  even  of  a  frivolous  reader. 
But  the  charm  of  the  book  is  not  in  the  plot. 
Like  most  of  the  works  of  Anatole  France,  this 
is  not  a  continuous  narrative,  but  a  series  of 
loosely  connected  sketches,  essays,  and  medita- 
tions.    And  the  style,  as  Buff  on  said,  is  "  the 
man  himself  ":  with  the  most  delightful  affecta- 
tion of  quaint  pedantry,  suddenly  relieved  by  a 
flash    of    wit;    humorous,    but    never    cynical; 

59 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

full  of  sentiment  without  sentimentality;  com- 
bining unequalled  freshness  with  quiet  dignity. 
Sylvestre  Bonnard,  even  more  than  Colonel 
Newcome,  is  the  character  I  should  most  like 
to  meet  in  the  flesh. 

The  Desires  of  Jean  Servien,  which  followed  in 
1882,  is  one  of  the  weakest  of  Anatole  France's 
novels ;  it  marks  a  relapse  below  the  level  of 
Jocaste.  Abeille  is  a  delightful  fairy  tale, 
which  may  be  heartily  recommended  to  Anglo- 
American  readers,  young  and  old.  In  Le  Livre 
de  mon  Ami  {The  Book  of  my  Friend),  we  find 
again  the  Anatole  France  of  the  first  period  at 
his  best.  The  author  shows  himself  as  success- 
ful in  his  delineation  of  childhood  as  he  was  in 
his  portrayal  of  old  age,  and  his  little  Pierre 
Noziere  endears  himself  to  us  in  the  same  man- 
ner, and  almost  to  the  same  degree,  as  Sylvestre 
Bonnard.  The  work  is  divided  into  two  parts: 
"  The  Book  of  Pierre  "  and  "  The  Book  of 
Suzanne."  The  second  is  excellent,  but  not 
supreme :  it  lacks  the  directness,  the  absolute 
freshness  of  the  first.  For  "  The  Book  of  Pierre  " 
is  confessedly  and  accurately  autobiographical: 
only  a  few  differences  can  be  traced  between 
Pierre  and  Anatole.  Dr.  Noziere,  the  physi- 
60 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


ciaii  and  amateur  anthropologist,  stands  some- 
what higher  in  the  social  scale  than  M.  Thibault, 
the  bookseller  and  self-taught  antiquarian:  but 
the  atmosphere  of  the  two  homes  was  the  same 
— modest,  yet  cultured.  I  have  already  alluded 
to  some  of  the  episodes  in  considering  Anatole 
France's  early  religious  experiences.  Every 
chapter  is  a  literary  gem,  complete  in  itself:  but 
the  book  has  a  striking  unity  of  style  and  pur- 
pose, and  a  range  quite  unusual  among  Souvenirs 
of  Childhood ;  for  France  manages  to  work  into 
his  Memoirs,  in  the  most  natural  manner,  a 
number  of  sketches  and  events  extending  from 
the  Revolution  to  the  heyday  of  the  Second 
Empire,  and  from  the  West  Indies  to  Japan. 
The  great  difficulty  about  books  of  that  kind  is 
that  too  often  we  hear  the  gruff  and  cynical 
voice  of  the  stained  and  scarred  middle-aged 
man  through  the  lips  of  a  child;  or  else  we 
shudder  at  the  antics  of  a  grown-up  who  wilfully 
attempts  to  be  young  again.  Even  Kenneth 
Graham's  Golden  Age,  one  of  the  most  fascinating 
books  about  children  that  I  have  ever  come 
across,  is  unconvincing  at  times  on  account  of 
its  constant  cleverness.  The  miracle  in  The 
Book  of  my  Friend  is  that  the  impressions,  the 

6i 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

words,  are  the  genuine  impressions  and  words  of 
a  child:  there  is  no  jarring  note;  yet  all  the 
experience,  the  erudition,  the  humour  of  the 
mature  man  are  ever  present  too,  as  a  subdued 
accompaniment  which  delicately  brings  out  the 
melody.  In  other  words,  there  are  two  charac- 
ters constantly  before  our  eyes :  in  the  fore- 
ground, the  little  schoolfellow,  trotting,  merry 
as  a  lark,  through  the  Luxembourg  Gardens, 
his  bundle  of  books  on  his  back,  his  marbles 
in  his  pocket;  in  the  background,  unobtrusive 
yet  never  forgotten,  the  ripe,  pensive  scholar, 
touched  with  silver  and  sadness,  who  looks  with 
such  a  wistful  smile  on  his  cheery,  innocent 
Self  of  thirty  years  before.  Yet  we  are  not  con- 
scious of  a  dual  presence,  or  even  of  a  dissociated 
personality,  so  complete  is  the  essential  identity 
of  the  two.  The  student,  the  artist,  the  dreamer, 
existed  potentially  in  the  thoughtful  little  boy 
brought  up  amid  treasures  of  science  and  beauty ; 
and,  be  it  said  to  Anatole  France's  credit,  the 
pure-hearted,  loving  child  was  not  dead  in  the 
heart  of  the  critic,  novelist,  and  man  of  the 
world.  This  is  a  hard  test  indeed:  how  many 
of  us  can  look  at  their  own  portraits  of  thirty 
years  ago  without  a  pang  of  shame  ? 
62 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


Let  us  take  as  an  example  of  a  narrative  with 
a  double  perspective  the  chapter  entitled  "  The 
Lady  in  White."  Little  Pierre  has  two  neigh- 
bours and  friends,  an  old  lady  always  in  black, 
and  her  niece,  always  in  white.  They  are  very 
fond  of  him,  and  spoil  him.  Pierre  is  "  the  little 
husband  "  of  the  Lady  in  White,  and  takes  his 
rights  and  privileges  so  seriously  that  he  feels 
deeply  hurt  when  an  Intruder,  a  hateful  big  man, 
faultlessly  dressed  and  groomed,  appears  upon 
the  scene.  The  Lady  in  White  has  a  Big  Hus- 
band, far  away,  a  diplomat  in  Japan.  The  In- 
truder is  the  husband's  colleague  and  friend. 
The  Lady  in  White  no  longer  laughs  as  she  used 
to ;  she  receives  letters  that  make  her  cry.  The 
Intruder  calls  repeatedly,  and  once,  in  the  ab- 
sence of  the  Lady  in  Black,  he  requests  that 
Pierre  be  sent  away.  So  Pierre  has  to  wait, 
with  growing  impatience,  in  the  dining-room, 
until,  unable  to  stand  it  any  longer,  he  bursts 
into  the  parlour.  Up  gets  the  Intruder,  who 
was  on  his  knees  before  the  Lady  in  White.  He 
looks  daggers  at  Pierre,  and  makes  a  passionate 
gesture,  as  if  he  would  like  to  throw  him  out  of 
the  window.  But  the  Lady  in  White  clasps  her 
httle  husband  to  her  bosom,  and  the  Intruder 

63 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

vanishes.  There  is  not  a  thought  that  a  child 
of  five  could  not  have  thought,  not  a  word  that 
he  could  not  have  said.  Yet,  behind  his  artless 
narrative,  we  see  with  perfect  clearness  a  com- 
plete romance:  the  frivolous  husband,  charming 
as  best  he  may  the  tedium  of  diplomatic  exile; 
the  lonely,  long-suffering  wife;  the  false  friend 
who  attempts  to  comfort  her;  the  anonymous 
letters  denouncing  the  husband's  misconduct ;  the 
supreme  temptation;  and  Pierre  rushing  to  the 
defence  of  innocence,  like  a  little  Deus  ex  ma- 
china. 

Most  delightful  is  the  story  of  Pierre's  first 
love  affair.  About  seventeen,  the  boy,  hitherto 
keen-minded  and  active,  became  languid,  dreamy, 
stupid.  He  did  not  know  the  nature  of  the 
delicious  poison  that  was  running  through  his 
veins :  it  was  a  passage  of  Virgil  that  enlightened 
him,  for  Pierre  was  from  the  first  a  bookman. 
On  the  authority  of  the  Roman  poet,  he  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  must  be  love — love  in 
the  abstract.  The  first  concrete  realization  of 
his  sentiment  was  Mme.  Ganse,  a  friend  of  his 
mother,  the  pretty  widow  of  a  well-known  com- 
poser. Pierre  worshipped  her.  One  evening, 
when  her  looks,  her  smile,  her  perfume,  her 
64 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


wonderful  rendering  of  Chopin,  had  more  than 
usual  deprived  him  of  his  self-possession,  she 
asked  him:  "Are  you  fond  of  music?"  And, 
closing  his  eyes,  almost  in  a  trance,  he  answered 
these  fateful  words:  "  Yes,  sir  !"  Hardly  were 
they  spoken  but  he  wished  the  earth  would  open 
and  engulf  him.  For  days  and  weeks,  those 
syllables  "Yes,  sir!"  kept  ringing  in  his  ears. 
He  had  thoughts  of  suicide.  Twenty  years  later 
Pierre  met  Mme.  Ganse  again.  In  the  course  of 
the  conversation,  this  time  without  a  tremor,  he 
alluded  to  the  dazzling  social  success  of  his 
former  idol.  "Yes,"  she  answered;  "people 
used  to  like  me,  and  I  received  many  flattering 
tributes ;  but  the  homage  that  went  most  to  my 
heart  was  that  of  a  schoolboy,  who  when  I  asked 
him  whether  he  liked  music,  answered :  '  Yes, 
sir  !'  I  don't  know  what  kept  me  from  kissing 
the  child  on  both  cheeks."* 

*  I  am  rather  sorry  to  add  that  the  success  of  The  Book 
of  my  Friend  had  induced  Anatole  France  to  give  it  two 
sequels,  Pierre  Nozidre,  which  came  out  in  1899,  and  Le 
Petit  Pierre,  now  in  course  of  pubUcation  in  the  Revue  de 
Paris.  That  there  are  good  things  in  both  goes  without 
saying,  but  the  first  book  remains  unique  in  its  freshness 
and  sustained  excellence. 


65 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


§  3.  Second  Period:  Voltairian  Irony,  Art 
FOR  Art's  Sake. 

France  as  a  writer  of  short  stories — France  as  a  literary 
critic — Thais — The  RStisserie  of  Queen  Pedauque — The 
Red  Lily. 

Anatole  France's  production  for  the  next  five 
years  was  limited    to  short  stories   and  news- 
paper articles.      The  short  story,  I  believe,  re- 
quires a  power  of  condensation  which  is  foreign 
to  the  leisurely,  delicate,  undulating  talent  of 
Anatole  France;    so  he  cannot  compare  for   a 
moment  with  the  supreme  masters  of  that  diffi- 
cult craft — ^with  Guy  de  Maupassant,  for  instance. 
Some  of  his  tales  are  almost  confessedly  pot- 
boilers ;  yet  even  the  most  indifferent  are  models 
of  style,  and  the  three  series  which  belong  to 
this  period*  should  be  carefully  studied  in  order 
to  trace  in  detail  the  evolution  of  his  art  and 
thought.     In  criticism,  on  the  contrary,  Anatole 
France  ranks  very  high.     He  is  the  type  of  the 
critic  who  does  not  criticize,  so  universal  is  his 
curiosity,  so  catholic  his  taste,  so  absolute  his 
scepticism  as  to  rules,  canons,  principles  of  litera- 
ture.    He  waged   a   controversy  of  command- 
*  Balthazar,  L'Etui  de  Nacre,  Le  Puits  de  Sainte-Claire. 
66 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


ing  interest  with  Brunetiere,  the  champion  of 
traditional,  dogmatic  criticism :  they  were  foes 
worthy  of  each  other's  steel.  Brunetiere  was  a 
pedant,  no  doubt,  but  fearless,  candid,  well-in- 
formed, dignified,  and  a  close  reasoner.  France 
parried  the  heavy  strokes  of  his  battle-axe  with 
the  needle-like  rapier  of  his  own  irony.  I  know 
of  no  more  delightful  reading  for  an  idle  hour 
than  an  odd  volume  of  France's  collected  articles 
on  Literary  Life.  Even  Sainte-Beuve,  even 
Montaigne,  are  more  ponderous  and  less  varied. 
With  France,  you  cover  the  whole  range  of 
ancient  and  modern  literature,  without  any 
effort,  in  the  easy  tone  of  polite  conversation; 
anecdotes,  philosophical  digression,  personal 
reminiscences,  snatches  of  poetry,  break  the 
monotony  of  straight  criticism.  France  is 
the  prince  of  causeurs  and,  much  more  than 
Sainte-Beuve's,  his  articles  are  essentially  talks, 
causeries.  But  the  airy  grace  of  the  form, 
the  easy  gait  and  the  rambling  course,  should 
not  blind  us  to  the  seriousness  of  the  matter : 
France  is  a  trained  historian,  of  immense  reading, 
and  at  least  a  gifted  amateur  in  moral  philo- 
sophy. In  the  four  volumes  of  this  series,  we 
detect   his  essential   convictions  better  perhaps 

67 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

than  in  his  more  formal  books.  We  can  trace 
the  transformation  of  kindly  irony  into  uni- 
versal scepticism;  the  development  of  a  purely 
human,  naturalistic  conception  of  the  world;  a 
code  of  ethics  based  exclusively  on  freedom,  sym- 
pathy, pity;*  also  a  growing  hostility  against 
the  traditions  and  institutions  which  support 
supernaturalism,  asceticism,  dogmatism ;  and  an 
open  advocacy  of  the  thought,  even  of  the  ethics, 
of  the  eighteenth  century. 

Thus  we  come  to  the  second  period  in  Anatole 
France's  career,  the  greatest  perhaps  from  the 
point  of  view  of  pure  literature,  the  most  puzzling 
from  that  of  pure  ethics.  It  comprises  the 
wonderful  trio,  Thais,  The  Rotisserie  of  Queen 
Pddauque,  and  The  Red  Lily :  the  first  a  tale  of 
Egypt  in  early  Christian  times,  the  second  a 
pastiche  of  eighteenth-century  memoirs,  the 
third  a  novel  of  contemporary  life. 

Thais,  in  subject  and  style,  might,  to  a  super- 
ficial reader,  seem  to  be  the  work  of  a  devout 
son  of  the  Church.  A  holy  hermit,  Paphnu- 
tius,  has  heard  of  the  famous  courtesan  Thais 
in   Alexandria;   he  goes   to  her,  wrestles   with 

*  Most  beautifully  expressed  in  a  volume  of  miscellaneous 
reflections  entitled  The  Garden  of  Epicurus. 

68 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


Satan  to  save  her  soul,  and  finally  brings  her 
back  to  God.  But  in  saving  her,  he  has  lost 
himself;  the  last  rebellions  of  sensuality  he  can 
crush :  pride  in  his  own  holiness  proves  a  more 
subtle  foe,  and  whilst  Thais  dies  a  saint,  Paphnu- 
tius  ends  in  despair.  The  theology  of  the  tale 
is  irreproachable,  and  the  style  too  is  of  the 
strictest  orthodoxy:  there  is  hardly  a  phrase 
that  is  not  borrowed  from  the  biography  of 
some  saint.  Just  as  the  smell  of  books  and 
parchment  pervaded  The  Crime  of  Sylvestre  Bon- 
nard,  the  pages  of  Thais  are  fragrant  with  an 
*'  odour  of  sanctity,"  that  strange  perfume  of 
which  the  physiologist  Georges  Dumas  has  given 
us  the  chemical  formula.  On  second  thoughts, 
Thais  appears  as  one  of  the  most  insidiously 
unchristian,  or  rather  antichristian,  books  in 
modern  literature.  It  is  the  last  flower  of  the 
school  of  aesthetic  Christianity  which  began 
with  Chateaubriand.  "  Christianity  is  beautiful, 
therefore  it  is  true":  such  was  the  central 
argument  of  Romantic  apologetics.  Renan,  a 
Chateaubriand  with  a  scientific  training,  said : 
"  Legends  are  nought  but  legends:  but,  if  they 
are  beautiful,  they  are  respectable,  and  have  in 
them  that  element  of  truth  which  is  inseparable 

69 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

from  beauty."  Anatole  France  goes  further: 
"  Legends  are  legends.  To  the  modern  mind,  they 
are  absurd  and  laughable ;  but  we  refuse  to  pay 
them  the  homage  of  combating  them  seriously. 
We  are  liberal  enough  to  enjoy,  at  the  same 
time,  the  charm  of  their  beauty  and  the  humour 
of  their  absurdity."  Thus  we  have  a  story  to 
the  full  enjoyment  of  which  apparent  belief  in 
miraculous  Christianity  is  indispensable :  yet  the 
undercurrent  of  unbelief,  at  times  of  hostility, 
is  ever  perceptible.  This  discord  mars  the  im- 
pression of  the  book :  we  are  puzzled,  uneasy. 
The  irony  is  too  continuous  to  be  thoroughly  en- 
joyable; and  its  presence  is  sufficient  to  spoil  the 
spiritual  passages,  which,  whilst  faultlessly  beau- 
tiful, are  obviously  insincere.  Anatole  France 
ought  to  have  written  Thais  ten  years  before.  In 
1 890  the  eighteenth  century  had  taken  too  strong 
a  hold  of  him.  The  style  suffers  from  the  same 
duality  of  purpose  as  the  thought.  Thais  is  a 
work  of  art,  the  most  carefully  finished  perhaps 
in  the  production  of  a  master  craftsman.  But 
the  art  is  too  evident;  the  ironical  notes  make 
the  pseudo-hagiographic  passages  unconvincing, 
and  there  is  nothing  so  dismal  as  a  prolonged 
and  unconvincing  pastiche.  I  prefer  the  frank 
70 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


paganism,  the  open  worship  of  sensuaUty,  in 
a  book  visibly  influenced  by  Anatole  France, 
the  Aphrodite  of  Pierre  Loiiys;  and  the  after- 
effect of  Thais  is  fully  as  harmful  as  that  of 
Aphrodite,  because  it  is  more  insidious.* 

Two  passions  are  hidden  and  yet  perceptible 
in  Thais:  hatred  of  superstition,  hatred  of  as- 
ceticism :  both  are  expressed  with  more  engaging 
frankness  in  the  Rotisserie  (i.e.,  cookshop)  at 
the  sign  of  Queen  Pedauque.  There  again  the 
style  is  not  spontaneous,  but  a  transcription,  a 
sustained  imitation.  But  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury is  so  perfectly  familiar  to  Anatole  France, 
so  absolutely  in  harmony  with  his  tastes  and 
opinions,  that  we  are  not  irked  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  artifice.  The  slight  archaism  of 
the  language  is  a  constant  delight.  Jacques 
Menetrier,  who  tells  the  story,  is  the  son  of  a 
worthy  rotisseur,  at  the  sign  of  Queen  Webfoot, 
or  Pedauque.  That  glorious  rotisserie,  where 
serried  ranks  of  chickens  and  other  fowls  would 
slowly  turn  to  rich  amber,  on  a  background  of 
glowing    rubies,    whilst    a    delicious    fragrance 

*  The  influence  of  Flaubert's  Temptation  of  Saint- 
Anthony  on  Thais  is  obvious.  The  Temptation  is  as  uncon- 
vincing as  Thais ;  and,  much  more  ambitious,  it  is  by  no 
means  so  perfect. 

71 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

filled  the  warm,  substantial  air — we  can  see  it, 
feel  it,  smell  it,  inhale  its  atmosphere  of  jolly, 
homy  comfort.     When  I  am  in  a  certain  hungry, 
lazy  mood,  I  cannot  help  dreaming  of  the  rotis- 
series  that  used  to  be  so  numerous  in  Paris.* 
A  rotisserie  would  be  an  ideal  place  to  spend 
eternity  in — provided  you  were  not  too  near  the 
coals.     In  comes  His  Reverence  Jerome  Coign- 
ard,  one  of  the  adventurous,  disreputable  priests 
so   frequent   in   real    life   at   the   time.      Abbe 
Prevost,  the  author  of  Manon  Lescaut,  is  a  good 
authentic  specimen  of  the  type,  and  the  scene 
of  much  of  The  Rotisserie  is  laid  in  the  same 
surroundings   as   Manon.     Coignard   is   an   epi- 
cure, when  he  gets  a  chance ;  and  there  is  hardly 
any   vow   or   commandment   that   he   has   not 
broken,  or,  at  least,  badly  cracked.     Fat,  florid, 
with    rubicund    nose    and    triple    chin,    greasy 
cassock  and  shoes  down  at  heels,  he  has  pre- 
served in  his  misfortunes  a  great  cheerfulness 
and  equanimity  of  spirit,  a  wonderful  love  for 
scholarship  and  literature,  and  a  faith  of  strict- 
est orthodoxy.      But,  of  a  paradoxical  turn  of 
mind,   he    defends   the   Church   with   weapons 

*  They  have  almost  disappeared  from  the  French  capital, 
but  seem  to  be  thriving  in  New  York. 

72 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


snatched    from    her    arch-enemy.     Like    Mon- 
taigne, he  deUghts  in  confounding  human  reason 
by  the  spectacle  of  its  infirmity  and  endless  con- 
tradictions; and,  if  we  knew  him  not,  on  his  own 
professsion,  for  an  obedient  son  of  the  Church, 
we  might  easily  mistake  him  for  a  dangerous 
sceptic — like  Anatole  France  himself.      In  him 
are  compounded  the  appetites  and  frailties  of 
Sir  John  Falstaff;  the  philosophy  of  Montaigne; 
the  wit  of  Voltaire;  the  dignity,  or,  if  you  prefer, 
the  pedantry  of  a  college  professor ;  and  the  unc- 
tuous homiletics  of  the  priest.     Abbe  Coignard 
is   the   life  and  delight  of  the  work.     But  the 
minor    characters.    Friar    Ange,    Catherine    the 
Lacemaker,  Astarac  the  Astrologer,  are  sketched 
with  wonderful  verve.     Conversations,  as  ever 
in  Anatole  France,  are  the  very  marrow  of  the 
book:    but    the    fantastic,   realistic,  or    ironical 
episodes  are  told  with  singular  felicity.     There 
is    no   plot:   but   there   is   a   thread   that    runs 
through   the   story.*     The  Rotisserie   is   by   no 

*  The  importance  of  that  narrative  element  can  be 
gauged  by  comparing  The  Rotisserie  with  its  sequel. 
Opinions  of  Jerome  Coignard :  isolated  from  his  familiar 
background  and  from  his  old  associates,  philosophizing 
and  never  acting,  the  priestly  Pyrrhonian  is  far  less  con- 
vincing and  far  less  delightful. 

73 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

means  edifying,  and  I  am  afraid  I  should  have 
to  place  it  on  the  Index  Expurgatorius.  But 
like  Racine  at  Port-Royal,  if  I  had  to  give  up 
the  book,  I  would  first  learn  it  by  heart. 

In  The  R^d  Lily  there  is  little  trace  of  the 
destructive  irony  so  evident  in  The  ROtisserie 
and  Jerome  Coignard  :  the  work  of  dissolution  is 
complete.  The  heroes  of  the  novel  are,  so  far 
as  art,  culture,  social  graces  are  concerned,  the 
supreme  flowers  of  a  very  old  civilization.  Yet, 
in  their  perfect  freedom  from  prejudices — which 
you  might  prefer  to  call  scruples  and  principles 
— they  are  the  children  of  primitive  nature,  just 
as  much  as  Rarahu,  Loti's  child-bride  in  Tahiti. 
They  have  undone  the  slow  ethical  work  of 
centuries.  They  live  in  a  state  of  satisfied 
amorality  almost  akin  to  innocence.  And  the 
dangerous  magic  of  Anatole  France's  art  is  such 
that  we  too  forget,  for  the  time  being,  the  con- 
ventions, the  superstitions,  the  laws,  that  the 
characters  have  so  completely  brushed  aside. 

Therese  Martin-Belleme  and  Dechartre  love 
each  other.  But  when  Dechartre  learns  that 
Therese  has  previously  loved  another  man, 
Le  Mesnil,  some  deep  remnant  of  selfishness  and 
ferocity  is  stirred  up  in  him ;  he  torments  Therese 

74 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


and  himself  with  his  incurable  retrospective 
jealousy,  and  finally  drives  her  away.  Therese 
is  consistent  throughout:  a  child  of  this  world, 
her  one  rule  of  conduct  is  to  be  herself,  to  follow 
her  instinct  and  practise  no  deceit.  Dechartre 
is  more  complicated;  he  lives  on  two  planes,  or 
in  two  epochs,  at  the  same  time.  His  own 
actions  cannot  be  justified  except  under  an 
anarchistic  code  of  ethics — if  that  phrase  is  not 
too  Hibernian;  yet  his  jealousy  is  the  sign  of  a 
craving  for  ownership,  which  harks  back  to  the 
times  when  a  human  being  was  not  a  free  agent, 
but  a  piece  of  chattel:  "  Thy  neighbour's  house, 
thy  neighbour's  wife,  his  manservant,  his  maid- 
servant, his  ox,  his  ass,  or  anything  that  is  thy 
neighbour's,"  At  any  rate,  he  is  sincere,  and 
does  not  interpose  any  so-called  principle  or 
law  between  instinct  and  action. 

The  Red  Lily  is  in  many  respects  unique 
among  the  works  of  Anatole  France.  Its  style 
is  absolutely  simple  and  direct.  In  Sylvestre 
Bonnard,  in  The  Book  of  my  Friend,  in  Con- 
temporary History,  there  is  a  blend  of  archaism, 
solemnity,  and  irony,  which  is  delightful,  but  in 
which  art  is  apparent.  The  Rotisserie,  and 
later,  Penguin  Island,  are  marvellous  imitations 

75 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

of  the  eighteenth  century;  Thais,  St.  Clara's 
Well,  are  pieces  of  literary  jewellery,  elaborately 
chiselled  and  softly  ghttering;  here,  style,  in  his 
absolute  perfection,  disappears.  It  seems  as 
though  anyone  could  have  written  The  Red 
Lily,  but,  in  comparison,  even  the  pellucid  prose 
of  Jules  Lemaitre  has  flaws,  and  a  faint  veil 
of  mist. 

Conversations,  as  in  all  the  works  of  Anatole 
France,  are  of  great  importance:  but  they  are 
more  intimately  linked  with  the  characters  and 
with  the  action  than  in  Queen  Pedauque.  The 
episodical  personages,  Miss  Bell,  the  English 
poetess,  Choulette,  a  lifelike,  affectionately- 
humorous  portrait  of  Verlaine,  can  never  be 
forgotten.*  Admirably  rendered  is  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  two  cities,  Paris  and  Florence,  the 
latter  especially,  adorable  in  its  circle  of  hills 
moulded  and  tinted  by  a  God  who  must  have 
been  an  artist.  The  Red  Lily  is  the  symbol  of 
Florence;  it  is  also  the  symbol  of  Dechartre's 
love — its  refinement,  its  lack  of  supreme  white 
purity,  the  cruelty  that  underlies  it.  For  this 
is  almost  the  only  book  in  which  Anatole  France 

*  Much  less  successful  is  Paul  Vance,  a  compound  of 
Bourget  and  France  himself. 

76 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


has  attempted  to  describe  passion.  The  love 
of  Dechartre  and  Therese  is  purely  sensual :  but 
it  is  neither  vulgar  nor  frivolous.  There  is  no 
touch  of  the  bantering  cynicism  found  in  The 
Rotisserie,  and  which  became  almost  a  disease 
in  the  latter  part  of  Anatole  France's  career. 
In  this  respect  The  Red  Lily  deserves  to  rank 
with  the  masterpieces  of  Guy  de  Maupassant, 
with  As  Strong  as  Death,  for  example. 


§  4.  The  Ethics  of  the  Average  Sensual 

Man. 

Critique  of  all  objective  criteria — ^Tolerance  and  enlighten- 
ment— Hedonistic  sociability — Love  and  the  morality 
of  the  eighteenth  century. 

It  is  not  without  misgivings  that  we  turn 
from  the  art  to  the  ethics  of  The  Red  Lily. 
The  ethics  of  The  Red  Lily  !  Snakes  in  Iceland  1 
Thank  Heaven,  Anatole  France  is  no  Paul 
Bourget.  Why  not  be  satisfied  with  what  he 
has  to  offer — a  work  of  truth  and  beauty,  which 
depicts  human  life  serenely,  and  neither  attacks 
nor  preaches  any  Decalogue  ?  Morality  has  no 
more  to  do  with  it  than  with  the  UUes  in  the  field. 

No  one  likes  to   be   called  a   Philistine  or  a 

77 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

Pharisee;  and  the  doctrine  of  art  for  art's  sake 
is  allowed  to  pass  unchallenged  by  men  who, 
in  their  inmost  heart,  believe  that,  in  nine  cases 
out  of  ten,  it  is  a  piece  of  blatant  sophistry. 
Art  is  not  nature,  neither  is  it  science;  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  perfect  objectivity  in  art — 
not  even  in  photography,  least  of  all  in  literature. 
And  among  French  writers  Anatole  France  is 
by  no  means  the  most  objective.  Theophile 
Gautier  may  have  been  an  exquisite  organism 
for  the  enjoyment  of  the  external  world,  and 
nothing  more :  Anatole  France,  at  fifty,  could 
not  be  credited  with  such  holy  simplicity:  he  is 
not  innocent  of  thought.  Silence  is  an  opinion; 
there  are  sins  of  omission  as  well  as  commission, 
and  France's  negative  attitude  towards  orthodox 
morality  is  explicit  enough.  And,  in  this  re- 
spect, The  Red  Lily  is  more  significant  than 
such  a  book  as  The  Opinions  of  J  drome  Coignard. 
In  Jir6me  Coignard  there  is  a  strong  element 
of  wilful  paradox  and  irony.  In  The  Red  Lily 
we  have  France's  conception  of  the  world, 
unconsciously,  and  therefore  faithfully,  mirrored, 
Quiet  self-assurance  is  a  more  challenging  atti- 
tude than  impassioned  defiance.  When  H.  G. 
Wells  left  the  domain  of  scientific  fantasy  for 

78 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


that  of  problem  fiction,  his  heroes  propounded 
not  a  few  staggering  opinions  about  love  and 
marriage.  But  they  did  so — he  did  so — in  an 
ill-assured  voice,  grotesquely  loud  at  times,  and 
suddenly  choked  with  anguish.  You  could  easily 
recognize  the  conservative  moralist  who  was 
drifting  from  his  moorings  into  uncharted 
reaches.  Anatole  France  has  gone  far  beyond 
that  stage.  He  is  a  man — and  writes,  in  the 
main,  for  a  public — for  whom  old-fashioned 
morality  no  longer  exists.  No  need  for  him  to 
criticize  or  to  preach:  he  is.  To  see  him  so 
calm,  so  strong,  so  superior  is,  in  itself  a  demon- 
stration. It  is  impossible  to  be  a  whole-hearted 
admirer  of  The  Red  Lily  without  attuning  one- 
self to  the  author's  state  of  mind.  Even  a 
Puritan  should  be  able  to  enjoy  the  art  of  that 
wonderful  tale :  but  there  is  more  in  it  than  art, 
and  France  himself  would  be  loth  to  smuggle 
his  opinions  into  any  man's  brains.  If  we  are 
ready  to  agree  with  Anatole  France,  let  us 
know  why;  if  we  differ  from  him,  let  us  say  so. 

But  what  can  we  do  ?  It  would  be  unfair  to 
condemn  one  system  simply  in  the  name  of 
another:  anyway,  two  can  play  at  that  game. 
Perhaps  the  best  method  would  be  to  follow 

79 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


each  one  separately,  as  mathematicians  follow 
up  Euclidian  and  non-Euclidian  geometries;  we 
should  watch  for  the  first  inner  absurdity,  for 
the  first  flagrant  contradiction  with  established 
facts,  that  would  reveal  the  fallacy  lurking  in 
either;  perhaps  their  ultimate  agreement  or 
conclusive  discord  would  remain  beyond  our 
ken :  then  we  would  have  to  accept  their  parallel 
existence  as  a  fact:  one  of  the  riddles  of  the 
universe.  There  is  no  need  for  us  to  expound 
or  criticize  what  we  may  call  standard  morality : 
we  all  have  at  least  a  bowing  acquaintance  with 
its  tenets.  The  rival  scheme  that  we  are  now 
considering  may  be  less  familiar  to  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  reader;  it  is  not  peculiar  to  Anatole 
France ;  it  was  professed  by  Voltaire,  by  Moliere, 
by  Montaigne,  by  Rabelais,  and  by  no  small 
proportion  of  their  most  enlightened  contem- 
poraries. Yet  it  would  be  wrong  to  call  it 
"  French  morality  ":  France  has  had  other,  and 
greater,  prophets  than  these.  It  is  the  ethics 
of  "  the  average  sensual  man." 

The  first  article  in  that  scheme  is  that  there 
is  no  objective  criterion  of  right  and  wrong. 
You  adduce  an  external  authority.  Revelation: 
Anatole    France   will    rehearse,   with    a    weary 

80 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


smile  of  courteous  irony,  the  old  trusty  argu- 
ments of  Voltairianism.  There  are  rival  revela- 
tions; every  one  abounds  in  inner  conflicts. 
Sacred  books  were  written  down,  compiled, 
transmitted,  translated,  interpreted,  by  fallible 
men,  so  that  neither  the  canon  of  inspired 
writings,  nor  the  text  of  individual  passages, 
stand  beyond  cavil  at  the  present  day.  Few 
Christians  are  consistent  enough  to  defend  the 
literal  inspiration  of  their  Scriptures:  even  for 
the  orthodox,  those  parts  of  the  Bible  are  dead 
that  no  longer  agree  with  modern  sentiment : 
private  and  human  opinion  is  therefore  supreme. 
We  no  longer  accept  the  Decalogue  because 
Moses  brought  it  down  from  Sinai:  we  praise 
Moses  for  bringing  a  Decalogue  that  we  can  still 
accept  after  so  many  thousand  years.  In  other 
words,  we  believe  in  ourselves,  not  in  Moses. 

Tradition,  naturally,  is  ruled  out  of  court. 
Tradition  is  the  force  of  inertia,  nothing  more. 
Descant  on  its  holiness :  back  come  the  Voltairian 
sneers :  Prejudice,  superstition  !  Tradition  does 
not  count  in  science :  there,  all  theories  command 
a  purely  provisional  allegiance;  they  are  naught 
but  working  hypotheses;  they  may  at  any 
moment  be  submitted  to  a  new  test  and  dis- 

G  Si 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


proved.  Even  the  multiplication  table  is  open 
to  revision. 

As  for  universal  consent,  it  is  a  will-o'-the- 
wisp.  There  is  no  universal  consent:  there  is 
a  consensus  of  the  majority,  "  mostly  fools," 
said  Carlyle.  To  be  in  the  minority  does  not 
prove  ipso  facto  that  you  are  right :  some  minori- 
ties are  only  the  tail  of  a  bygone  majority;  others 
are  mere  false  starts,  that  lead  nowhither.  But 
Socrates  and  Jesus  were  in  the  minority.  On 
the  other  hand,  polygamy,  idolatry,  slavery, 
belief  in  witchcraft,  and  every  wild  delusion  of 
the  human  mind  were  once  as  universally 
endorsed  as  war  and  capitalism  in  the  world  of 
yesterday — or  to-day  ?  The  "  good  of  the 
greatest  number  "  is  another  form  of  the  same 
criterion.  The  radical  individualist  may  say: 
"  What  care  I  for  the  greatest  number  ?"  The 
aristocratic  philosopher  will  say:  "  Not  the  good 
of  the  greatest  number,  but  the  highest  develop- 
ment of  the  chosen  few,  is  the  goal  of  human 
endeavour."  And  who  is  to  determine  "  the 
good  of  the  greatest  number  "  ?  Ultimately  the 
greatest  number  themselves.  This  may  be  an 
inevitable  compromise:  it  is  not  an  ideal.  The 
conformist  may  be  a  moral  man :  but  greater  still 

82 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


is  the  prophet  who  rises  against  the  abuses  and 
prejudices  of  the  day — against  what  the  deluded 
majority  consider  their  "  greatest  good." 

There  remains  conscience:  an  uneven-handed 
criterion,  according  to  which  the  scrupulous  man 
will  torment  his  soul  to  death  for  a  peccadillo, 
whilst  the  brute  will  rape  and  kill,  and  sleep 
the  slumber  of  the  just.  Whatever  may  be  the 
essence  of  conscience,  its  contents  are  the 
epitome  of  human  experience,  the  result  of  race, 
tradition,  and  surroundings,  the  embodiment  of 
prejudice.  Prejudices  may  be  right  as  well  as 
wrong;  but  they  are  not  infallible.  A  con- 
scientious Protestant  will  eat  meat  on  Good 
Friday  without  a  qualm.  A  conscientious  naval 
officer  will  send  to  the  bottom  a  shipful  of  women 
and  children.  A  conscientious  Dukhobor  or 
Quaker  will  refuse  to  obey  his  country's  supremest 
command. 

Morality,  in  the  eyes  of  the  orthodox,  partook 
of  the  sacredness  of  religion  and  of  the  definite- 
ness  of  science.  After  passing  through  the  fire 
of  Voltairian  criticism,  it  is  shorn  of  both  these 
attributes.  Nothing  remains  but  a  loose  ac- 
cumulation of  precedents  and  conventions,  a 
writhing  mass  of  shadowy  absurdities,  the  Great 

83 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

Boig,  formidable  in  its  ubiquitous  shapelessness. 
Look  more  closely :  you  will  discern  two  monsters 
within  the  cloud — Fanaticism  and   Ignorance. 

Self-righteous  fanatics — Torquemada  in  the 
name  of  Christ,  Robespierre  in  the  name  of 
democracy  and  virtue,  the  Kaiser  in  the  name  of 
the  Fatherland  and  Culture — have  caused  more 
blood  to  be  shed  than  all  common  murderers 
put  together.  And  lives  without  number  have 
been  darkened  by  the  nameless  terror,  that,  even 
in  its  milder  moods,  fanaticism  spreads  over  the 
land :  lovers  kept  apart,  brothers  estranged, 
races  or  classes  doomed  to  eternal  humiliation, 
thought  warped  or  checked,  noble  fancies  clipped 
and  caged.  The  baiting  of  heretics,  insidious 
and  relentless,  goes  on  under  our  very  eyes. 
The  remedy  is  tolerance.  But  tolerance  is  the 
sceptic's  virtue.  The  earnest  believer  may  wish 
to  deal  gently  with  erring  brethren — the  In- 
quisition urged  the  secular  arm  to  treat  them 
"  misericorditer  " — yet  he  must  be  firm,  and 
stern,  if  sternness  be  needed.  If  he  knows  the 
truth,  he  must  be  ready  to  die  for  the  truth, 
and  he  must  not  balk  at  inflicting  death,  that 
truth  may  prevail.  What  are  individual  lives 
compared   to   eternal   verities  ?     Thus   are   the 

84 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


stake,  the  scaffold,  and  the  battlefield  justified. 
The  sceptic,  on  the  contrary,  will  say:  "  What 
are  our  poor  little  human  opinions,  that  we 
should  kill  or  even  torment  a  living  being  for 
their  sake  ?"  He  wishes  to  live  and  let  live, 
whatever  may  be  his  neighbour's  faith,  nation, 
race,  class,  political  allegiance,  or  private  code 
of  ethics.  If  the  aim  of  virtue  were  to  spare 
misery,  no  virtue  would  rank  so  high  as  tolerance. 
It  is  negative,  and  can  hardly  be  termed  heroic. 
Yet,  in  Voltaire,  it  amounted  to  a  positive 
passion — we  might  almost  say  to  fanaticism. 
And,  in  the  case  of  Anatole  France  himself,  it 
was  soon  to  become  the  source  of  noble  deeds. 

Fanaticism  is  the  result  of  stupidity  rather 
than  of  wickedness,  and  can  be  corrected  by 
enlightenment  rather  than  by  direct  sermonizing. 
President  Poincare  is  not  likely  to  be  canonized, 
like  Louis  IX.:  yet  he  does  not  order  the  eyes 
of  heretics  to  be  put  out.  He  is  not  better:  he 
knows  better.  Every  prejudice,  every  super- 
stition that  crumbles  down,  leaves  man  more 
humane.  This  process  is  not  infallible  in  indi- 
vidual cases :  evil  passions  may  survive  their 
intellectual  justification;  but,  in  a  large  way, 
it   works   well.     When   a   nation   emerges   from 

85 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

dense  ignorance,  it  is  liberated  from  the  vague 
terrors  of  the  night,  and  from  the  cruelty  born 
of  fear.  A  refined  intellect,  a  quick  sympathy, 
are  more  essential  to  enlightenment  than  a  mass 
of  information.  These  are  social  qualities. 
France,  like  Voltaire,  refuses  to  fall  down  and 
worship  primitive  innocence:  primitive  man 
was  a  brute.  And  a  learned  barbarian  is  a 
more  dangerous  barbarian.  Enlightenment, 
**  sweetness  and  light,"  are  to  be  sought  in  the 
commerce  of  gentle  men  and  women,  rather  than 
in  the  forest  primeval,  or  in  the  efficient  work- 
shops where  Ph.D.'s  are  made. 

Orthodox  morality  is  rooted  in  pessimism: 
man  cannot  be  trusted  to  work  out  his  own 
salvation;  essentially  depraved,  he  needs  a 
system  of  checks  and  rewards  to  keep  him  in  the 
straight  and  narrow  path.  Some  Utopians,  and 
Rousseau  himself,  have  faith  in  human  nature: 
set  it  free,  and  it  will  find  its  way  back  to  Eden. 
Anatole  France  is  neither  an  optimist  nor  a 
pessimist,  nor  yet,  like  George  Eliot,  a  "  melior- 
ist."  He  is — what  shall  we  say? — a  "  medio- 
crist."  Man  can  never  be  quite  so  good  or  quite 
so  bad  as  he  tries  to:  in  six  thousand  years,  he 
has  not  managed  to  invent  an  eighth  deadly 

86 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


sin.  Remove  abuses  when  they  become  flagrant, 
by  all  means;  but  do  hot  expect  the  millennium. 
Be  careful  lest,  in  the  place  of  an  old  and  effete 
superstition,  you  install  another  superstition, 
brand-new,  assertive,  and  seven  times  worse  than 
the  first.  Be  gentle  in  tearing  down  harmless 
delusions:  for  the  great  majority,  those  delusions 
alone  make  life  worth  living ;  and  if  philosophers 
did  not  have  the  spectacle  of  the  folly  of  others 
for  their  entertainment,  they  would  soon  die 
of  ennui. 

There  is  no  aim  in  life  but  the  quest  of  pleasure : 
that  gospel  of  "  the  average  sensual  man,"  the 
American  Constitution,  calls  it  the  pursuit  of 
happiness.  We  have  no  right  to  say  that  one 
form  of  pleasure  is,  in  itself,  higher  or  better 
than  another;  but  man  is  a  gregarious  animal; 
he  finds  society  more  comfortable  than  isolation, 
and  those  pleasures  are  most  desirable  which 
tend  to  the  consolidation  instead  of  the  disrup- 
tion of  society.  Morality — civilization — socia- 
bility— civility:  all  these  terms  blend  into  one 
another.  For  Anatole  France  as  well  as  for 
Confucius,  a  code  of  ethics  is  merely  a  code  of 
politeness.  The  one  great  virtue  is  savoir-vivre. 
A  man  is  measured  by  his  taste. 

87 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

There  is  fierce  joy  in  battle:  but  battle  is 
antisocial.  With  growing  enlightenment,  from 
bouts  with  the  stone  axe  we  have  evolved 
fencing  with  capped  foils:  a  faint  flavour  of 
conflict  has  been  retained  in  a  polite  meeting  for 
mutual  enjoyment.  In  the  same  way,  wordy 
war,  dispute,  becomes  conversation;  the  verbal 
dart,  retort,  loses  its  sting  and  becomes  repartee. 
Such  indeed  seems  the  general  line  of  progress: 
the  transformation  of  struggle  into  sport.  The 
same  law  applies  to  love.  Love,  in  Anatole 
France's  mind,  is  a  primitive  passion,  a  wild 
impulse.  The  days^ — not  so  far  removed — when 
the  males  fought  for  the  possession  of  the  females, 
and  when  rape  was  the  acknowledged  form 
of  wooing,  have  left  their  mark  in  the  recesses 
of  our  hearts.  Love,  like  war,  in  its  sombre 
violence,  is  antisocial.  It  has  to  be  tamed, 
humanized,  civilized.  Here  again,  battle  must 
be  turned  into  sport.  The  spirit  of  conquest 
and  ownership  must  yield  to  that  of  free  and 
mutual  enjoyment. 

Thus  arose  the  "  morality  "  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  with  its  well-bred  tolerance  and  its 
exquisite  Marivaudage.  This  "  morality  "  Ana- 
tole France  frankly  endorses.     Only  he  is  aware 

88 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


of  the  fact  that,  even  in  the  most  refined  circles, 
it  has  not  reached  its  point  of  perfection.  There 
are  men  Hke  Dechartre  who  suddenly  refuse  to 
play  the  game — like  spoilt  children  who  stamp 
and  shriek  because  they  are  not  winning. 

The  obvious  lesson  is  that  exclusiveness  and 
jealousy  are  antisocial,  selfish,  and  should  be 
discountenanced.  Had  Le  Mesnil  politely  bowed 
when  Therese  gave  him  his  dismissal;  had  De- 
chartre recognized  that  she  was  free,  that  he  had 
no  claim  either  upon  her  past  or  upon  her  future : 
all  would  have  been  well.  This  is  the  moral  of 
the  story,  according  to  the  logic  of  France's 
thought. 

But  The  Red  Lily  is  not  a  book  with  a  thesis ; 
it  is  the  work  of  a  candid  observer;  and,  like 
life  itself,  it  allows  of  a  variety  of  interpreta- 
tions. Anatole  France  does  not  condemn  Le 
Mesnil  and  Dechartre.  He  pities  them,  as  much 
as  he  pities  Therese.  And  we  are  led  to  question 
whether,  according  to  Anatole  France's  own 
showing,  the  code  of  delicate  urbanity  that  he 
has  propounded  can  stand  the  shock  of  an 
eternal  reality,  such  as  love.  Tame,  humanize, 
civilize  love  as  you  will:  at  the  first  tremor  he 
will  burst  asunder  your  gossamer  chains. 

89 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

Throughout  the  book  can  be  felt  a  strange, 
nostalgic  love  for  Love — the  pure,  the  terrible, 
primitive  and  eternal.  But  love  cannot  abide 
with  those  who  would  fain  turn  him  into  a  rosy 
Cupid  of  the  Pompadour  period.  They  are  un- 
worthy, and  are  left  empty-hearted.  The  closing 
pages  of  The  Red  Lily  are  sombre.  There  you 
have  a  man  and  a  woman,  rich,  young,  refined. 
Pleasure  is  their  gospel.  They  try  to  love,  they 
yearn  for  Love :  they  cannot  find  joy.  Heroes 
and  readers  are  left  with  an  ashy  taste  in  their 
mouths. 

And  we  cannot  help  wondering  whether  Truth 
is  to  be  found  in  the  glittering  candlelight  of  a 
Voltairian  salon,  or  in  the  wind-swept  open 
fields,  under  the  stars. 


90 


CHAPTER  III 

ANATOLE  FRANCE:  THE  DREYFUS 
CASE  AND  AFTER 


CHAPTER  III. 

ANATOLE  FRANCE:  THE  DREYFUS  CASE  AND 
AFTER. 

We  have  attempted  to  sketch  the  career  of 
Anatole  France  up  to  1897.  Zola,  with  his 
massive  epic  of  disease  and  filth,  The  Rougon- 
Macquart,  with  his  enormous  sales,  his  noisy 
popularity,  the  constant  controversies  in  which 
he  was  engaged,  his  assumption  of  leadership 
and  his  dogmatic  theorizing,  still  occupied  the 
centre  of  the  literary  stage.  Pierre  Loti  had 
appealed  more  deeply  than  Zola  to  a  more  re- 
fined circle  of  readers,  and,  once  at  least,  had 
reached  as  wide  a  public  with  his  Iceland  Fisher- 
man. But  Anatole  France  was  already  recog- 
nized as  the  foremost  artist  of  the  day.  Inno- 
cent, delicate  and  tender  in  The  Book  of  my 
Friend,  kindly  humorous  in  The  Crime  of  Syl- 
vestre  Bonnard,  a  virtuoso  of  colour  and  music 
in  Thais,  a  master  of  lively  narrative,  picturesque 
incident,  and  sparkling  irony  in  The  Rotisserie 
of  Queen  Pedauque,  grave,  poetical,  soberly  elo- 

93 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

quent  in  The  Garden  of  Epicurus,  strong  and 
direct  in  The  Red  Lily,  rising  without  effect 
from  the  level  of  cultured  conversation  to  the 
tragic  heights  of  sensual  passion — a  poet,  a 
scholar,  a  critic  as  well  as  a  novelist,  Anatole 
France  had  covered  nearly  the  whole  gamut  of 
literature.  In  tastes  and  prepossessions,  both 
artistic  and  political,  he  might  have  been  called 
a  "  conservative  anarchist  " — one  of  those  men 
who  have  no  belief  in  the  sanctity  of  authority 
and  tradition,  yet  freely  conform  to  their  dic- 
tates, because  those  dictates  happen  to  suit 
their  individual  fancy.  France,  for  instance, 
would  have  been  glad  to  extend  a  hand  of  wel- 
come to  "  the  literature  of  To-Morrow  "  heralded 
by  Charles  Morice:  but  he  remained  imbued 
with  the  spirit  and  style  of  the  classical  masters, 
Greek,  Latin  and  French.  He  showed  no  trace 
of  the  snobbishness  with  which  Barres  and 
especially  Bourget  have  been  charged;  but  he 
enjoyed  luxury  and  the  amenities  of  life;  his 
Villa  Said  was  a  museum  of  precious  and  beau- 
tiful things;  and  he  consorted  by  choice  with 
people  of  wealth  and  culture.  Fanaticism  he 
abhorred :  but  he  seemed  to  disHke  and  fear  the 
new-fangled,  unspent  fanaticism  of  revolu- 
94 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


tionists,  more  than  the  mellowed  and  compara- 
tively innocuous  fanaticism  of  the  champions  of 
the  past.  He  had  started  with  universal  irony, 
leading  to  universal  indulgence,  as  preached  by 
Renan,  and  summed  up  in  the  maxim:  "  A  sin 
comprehended  is  a  sin  forgiven."  The  gentle 
humour  of  his  early  books,  which  smiled  at  the 
foibles  and  eccentricities  of  men,  had  gradually 
dissociated  into  irony  and  pity;  then  it  seemed 
as  though  pity  were  receding  and  vanishing:  in 
the  mind  of  Jerome  Coignard,  naught  was  left 
but  amused  contempt.  Customs,  institutions, 
philosophies  and  creeds — ^all  are  equally  laugh- 
able :  what  is  man  that  he  should  believe  he  has 
found  a  rule  less  delusive  than  his  senses,  less 
fragile  than  his  reason,  less  unstable  than  his  own 
heart  ?  Thus  we  are  left  in  a  world  whence  all 
dogmatic  notions  have  been  swept  away.  No- 
thing remains  but  the  "  What  do  I  know  ?"  of 
Montaigne,  which  easily  becomes  "  What  do  I 
care?";  the  "  Fais  que  voudras  "  (Do  as  you 
please),  which  was  the  fundamental  law  of 
Theleme;  and  the  two  alternating  notes  in 
Ecclesiastes :  "  Eat,  drink,  and  be  merry,"  "  All 
is  vanity." 
Such  was  the  man:  a  writer  of  established 

95 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

reputation,  a  radical  sceptic,  a  delicate  epicure, 
and  fifty- three  years  old.  Duty  seemed  to  have 
no  definite  meaning  for  him;  it  is  but  the  last 
idol,  the  faint  unsubstantial  shadow  of  receding 
theism.  Comfort,  pleasure,  on  the  contrary, 
are  tangible:  "  pleasure,  the  one  thing  as  certain 
as  Death."  Imagine  such  a  man  confronted 
with  a  moral  and  social  problem,  which,  mind 
you,  does  not  affect  his  own  comfort  in  the  least. 
How  easy  it  were  for  him  to  avert  his  eyes,  to 
ignore  the  question,  to  remain  blandly  neutral  ! 
How  much  easier  still  would  it  be  to  pour  his 
shafts  of  unerring  sarcasm,  right  and  left,  upon 
those  coarse- witted  men  who  take  life  seriously, 
who  think  that  justice,  truth,  the  fatherland, 
religion,  are  more  than  empty  names,  are  worth 
fighting  and  dying  for  !  Up,  Jerome  Coignard, 
and  tell  us  once  more  that  there  is  nothing 
certain  in  the  world  but  the  enjoyment  of  good 
books,  good  wine,  and  the  smiles  of  Catherine 
the  Lacemaker  !  But  Jerome  Coignard  remained 
in  his  grave  by  the  hillside  on  the  Lyons  road; 
and  in  his  stead  appeared  Professor  Lucien 
Bergeret,  champion,  and,  if  need  be,  martyr,  of 
justice. 


96 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


§  I.  Provincial  Life. 

The  Elm  on  the  Mall — The  Church  of  the  Concordat — Abbe 
Lantaigne — Anatole  France's  anticlericahsm. 

The  Dreyfus  case  brought  about  in  France  an 
extraordinary  revaluation  of  all  values.  The 
historian  of  morals,  I  believe,  will  do  well  to 
study  that  crisis  as  a  searching  test  on  an  un- 
exampled scale.  In  that  electric  storm,  the  two 
rival  conceptions  of  human  life  and  conduct 
were  polarized  almost  at  once,  and  with  striking 
definiteness.  The  first  of  these  conceptions 
stands  for  formal  discipline,  for  virtue  as  the 
accomplishment  of  duty,  for  duty  as  the  ful- 
filment of  the  law,  for  the  law  as  the  expression 
of  a  supreme  will.  It  rests  upon  the  belief  that 
there  is  a  Truth,  primitive,  immutable,  divine, 
revealed  from  above  and  miraculously  trans- 
mitted. It  is  the  religion  of  authority,  of 
orthodoxy,  of  tradition.  The  other  recognizes 
no  authority  but  the  individual  conscience; 
traditions  it  calls  superstitions  and  prejudices; 
outward,  compulsory  discipline  is  sheer  tyranny; 
orthodoxy  is  an  attempt,  long  hateful,  now 
futile,  to  shackle  the  mind  and  soul  of  man ;  duty 
H  97 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


is  but  a  convention;  like  other  conventions,  it 
is  respectable  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  freely  con- 
sented to  and  reciprocally  binding ;  it  must  have 
rights  for  its  correlatives.  This  is  the  religion 
of  individual  liberty. 

Now,  it  is  evident  that  both  may  be  abused 
for  selfish  motives.  The  religion  of  liberty  is 
invoked  by  whoever  wants  to  shirk  unpleasant 
obligations;  the  religion  of  authority  is  called 
upon  to  preserve  convenient  privileges  that  have 
long  ceased  to  be  defensible  in  the  light  of  reason. 
But,  on  the  whole,  the  advantage  rests  with  the 
religion  of  authority.  On  its  side  are  to  be 
found  the  rich,  the  learned,  the  well-born,  the 
self-righteous,  all  those  who  have  attained  their 
goal  and  staked  their  claim;  it  controls  Church, 
government,  and  social  organization ;  it  controls, 
more  than  we  are  willing  to  confess,  the  schools 
themselves,  and  moulds  the  minds  of  the  young 
generation.  It  is  established  and  respectable. 
It  can  pour  odium  and  contempt  upon  the  liber- 
tarians. On  the  one  hand,  the  pillars  of  society; 
on  the  other,  the  rabble  of  free-thinkers,  free- 
lovers,  infidels,  blasphemers,  iconoclasts,  anar- 
chists, and  what  not:  take  your  choice. 

Then  arose  in  France  a  paradoxical  situation, 

98 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


the  scandal  of  contemporary  history:  Hberty 
wresthng  with  authority  in  ethical  battle,  and 
winning  the  fight.  A  man,  Captain  Dreyfus, 
had  been  convicted  for  the  crime  of  another. 
Originally  it  was  naught  but  an  error.  The  man 
protests,  in  terms  that  ring  true;  his  family,  a 
few  friends — not  all  of  them  his  co-religionists 
— have  faith  in  him  and  attempt  to  defend  him ; 
a  few  outsiders,  moderate,  conservative  men,  a 
prominent  lawyer,  an  old  Alsatian  senator,  the 
colonel  in  charge  of  his  military  jail,  take  up  the 
cry.  Once  more,  it  is  a  mistake,  humiliating  to 
confess,  but  not  damning;  tragic  enough  for  the 
victim,  yet  not  irreparable.  The  man  is  alive, 
and  his  opinions  are  those  of  his  tormentors :  he 
is,  like  them,  a  conservative,  a  capitalist,  a 
patriot.  But  the  man  is  a  Jew,  and  Edouard 
Drumont  has  for  years  been  filling  the  Catholic 
imagination  with  horrific  tales  of  Jewish  occult 
power.  In  the  first  campaign  of  Dreyfus 's 
friends,  the  army  leaders  see  nothing  but  an 
attempt  of  the  sect  to  save  one  of  its  members. 
Swayed  by  their  antisemitic  prejudice,  they  close 
their  eyes  to  evidence.  But  public  opinion 
awakens;  the  crisis  grows  in  intensity;  the  con- 
servative leaders  clearly  detect  in  the  agitation 

99 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


a  plot  on  the  part  of  the  enemies  of  France  for 
the  ruin  of  her  army.  Then  the  whole  of  France 
is  swept  by  the  storm,  the  whole  world  feels  its 
fierce  breath:  the  conservatives  are  confirmed 
in  their  belief  that  all  the  forces  of  destruction, 
the  hosts  of  Antichrist,  are  arrayed  against  them. 
They  are  now  defending  their  altars  and  their 
hearths.  They  know  that  they  are  right:  are 
not  their  enemies  the  enemies  of  Property,  and 
the  Fatherland,  and  the  Church — the  enemies  of 
God  ?  And  when  the  devilish  ingenuity  of  the 
Dreyfusists  is  able  to  pounce  upon  some  tech- 
nical flaw  in  their  defence — upon  the  lack  of 
documentary  evidence,  for  instance — why,  they 
will  not  allow  the  cause  of  law  and  order  to  suffer 
defeat  on  account  of  such  a  formal  trifle.  If 
documents  are  wanted,  they  will  be  provided — 
that  is  to  say,  they  will  be  forged.  It  is  a  for- 
gery but  in  appearance,  a  "  patriotic  "  forgery, 
a  white  lie,  for  the  fabricated  pieces  represent 
what  the  Anti-Dreyfusists  know  to  be  the  truth. 
They  are  fiduciary  money,  banknotes  of  no  in- 
trinsic value,  lies  if  you  like  to  call  them  so,  but 
lies  which  stand  for  a  gold  reserve  of  truth. 
And  how  do  they  know  that  the  truth  is  there, 
invisible  to  human  eyes,  compelled  to  manifest 

lOO 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


itself  only  through  lies  ?  Why,  are  they  not, 
they  the  conservatives,  the  capitalists,  the  ortho- 
dox, are  they  not  the  appointed  owners  and 
keepers  of  the  truth  ?  If  the  truth  were  not  with 
them,  what  would  be  the  meaning  of  Church  and 
State  ?  Then  the  vault  is  forced  open — and 
found  empty. 

The  Dreyfus  case  is  the  key  to  the  whole 
literary  life  of  Anatole  France  after  1897,  On 
the  one  hand  were  arrayed  the  Army,  the 
Church,  Capital;  on  the  other,  Free-Thought 
and  Socialism.  Anatole  France  had  always  been, 
even  in  his  days  of  kindliest,  almost  reverent 
humour,  a  very  free  thinker  indeed:  under  the 
influence  of  the  crisis  he  became  more  and  more 
of  an  aggressive  anticlerical,  and  finally  a  pro- 
fessed Socialist.  It  is  this  evolution  that  we  can 
trace  in  the  series  of  articles  which  he  contri- 
buted to  Le  Figaro,  now  collected  into  the  four 
volumes  of  his  Contemporary  History*  These 
articles  are  of  a  kind  which  baffles  definition. 
They  may  consist  of  a  descriptive  sketch,  with 
some  of  the  elements  of  the  short  story ;  oftener, 
they  are  a  commentary,  and  mostly  a  satire,  on 

*  The  Elm  on  the  Mall,  The  Dressmaker' s  Form,   The 
Amethyst  Ring,  M.  Bergeret  in  Paris. 

lOI 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


current  events ;  a  certain  thread,  lacking  in  The 
Opinions  of  Jerome  Coignard,  connects  the 
different  instalments,  so  that  they  may  be  con- 
sidered as  the  chapters  of  a  loose,  rambling 
novel.  The  readers  of  the  Figaro  provided  the 
right  kind  of  a  public  for  Anatole  France:  the 
paper,  frivolous  enough  to  please  the  cosmo- 
politan, pleasure-seeking  society  of  Paris,  was 
not  devoid  of  culture,  and  had  a  reputation  for 
good  style  and  wit ;  it  was  conservative,  but  not 
committed  like  Le  Gaulois  to  the  unswerving 
support  of  the  monarchical  cause;  outwardly 
respectable,  yet  without  any  prudish  objection 
to  pimento  and  Cayenne  pepper  in  fiction.  The 
easy  method  of  composition  was  admirably 
suitable  to  the  talent  of  Anatole  France:  ex- 
quisite in  polite  causerie,  he  has  seldom 
shown  himself  capable  of  developing  a  definite 
plot  or  a  formal  argument.  The  episcopal  am- 
bitions of  Abbe  Guitrel  form  the  apparent  con- 
nection between  the  different  episodes — at  least 
in  the  first  three  volumes  ;  but  in  the  life,  charac- 
ter, and  opinions  of  Professor  Lucien  Bergeret 
lies  the  chief  interest. 

The  first  volume.  The  Elm  on  the  Mall,  is 
unique    as    a    description    of    provincial    life. 

1 02 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


Honore  de  Balzac  had  left  several  masterpieces 
of   that    kind,   and  Mme.  Bovary,  by  Gustave 
Flaubert,  is  one  of  the  epoch-making  books  in 
the  nineteenth  century;    but  this  vein  had  be- 
come more  and  more  neglected  in  French  fiction. 
Brittany  and    the   Basque  countries,  described 
by  Loti,  are  not  provincial  in  the  usual  sense  of 
the   term,   but   foreign:   they   are   strange   and 
primitive  little  nations  within   ten  hours'  ride 
from  Paris.      Peasant  life  is  not  "  provincial  " 
either.     It  has  its  romantic  charm,  so  different 
from  the  feverishness  of  the  capital.     But  life 
in  a   French  country  town    is    a    byword    for 
stupidity:   dull   prejudices,   parochial   interests, 
petty  rivalries,  paltry  intrigues,  small  scandals : 
these,  with   assiduous   church -going   and  fruit- 
preserving  in  season,  make  up  the  daily  routine, 
year   in,  year  out,   as  tedious  as    a  twice-told 
tale.     Add  a  wistful  and  resentful  recognition 
of  Parisian  leadership,  expressed  in  a  belated, 
half-hearted  or  excessive  imitation  of  Parisian 
moods  and  fashions.     Such  at  least  is  the  im- 
pression that  provincial  life  makes  on  Parisian 
exiles.     The  picture  may  be   overdrawn.     Yet 
it  is  a  fact  that  on  account  of  the  agelong  supre- 
macy of  the  capital,  and  as  a  result  of  the  cen- 

103 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

tralizing  policy  of  King,  Jacobine  and  Em- 
peror alike,  all  but  a  few  of  the  major  cities  in 
France  have  been  devitalized ;  they  have  lost  the 
influence  that  cities  of  corresponding  size  still 
enjoy  in  England,  Germany,  Italy,  and  America. 

Now,  Anatole  France,  a  Parisian  to  the  very 
marrow  of  his  bones,  describes  for  us  that 
timid,  sluggish,  benumbed  existence  with  extra- 
ordinary powers  of  sympathy.  In  his  book, 
all  the  elements  of  provincial  society  live  and 
move  with  convincing  naturalness.  There  is 
the  Prefect,  Worms -Clavelin,  a  professional 
politician,  easy-going,  selfish,  sceptical,  a  Jew 
who  is  hand  and  glove  with  the  clerical  party, 
which  very  properly  despises  him  whilst  making 
use  of  him;  General  Cartier  de  Chalmot,  meth- 
odical, unobtrusive,  henpecked,  simple-hearted 
as  a  child;  the  bluff  and  kindly  old  Doctor  who 
"  makes  up  "  as  a  country  squire;  M.  de  Terre- 
mondre,  a  gentleman  of  the  lesser  nobility,  with 
some  affectation  of  elegance  and  culture ;  Mazure, 
the  Keeper  of  Archives,  a  bilious  Jacobin;  the 
town  flirt  and  toast,  Mme.  de  Gromance;  the 
Rector  and  Professors  of  the  University;  the 
tradespeople  and  the  servants;  and  even  the 
harmless,    half-witted     tramp,    Pied-d'Alouette, 

104 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


a  child  of  nature  and  unconscious  philosopher. 
Most  precious  of  all,  in  themselves,  and  from 
the  documentary  point  of  view,  are  the  sketches 
of  clerical  life.  They  depict  a  Church  which  has 
passed  away,  unregretted  by  friend  or  foe:  the 
mediocre,  lukewarm  Church  issued  from  the 
Concordat.  Associated  for  the  sake  of  con- 
venience and  pelf  with  a  State  which  she  de- 
spised, and  which  in  turn  distrusted  her ;  paying 
lip-service  to  the  Republic,  whilst  ineffectually 
regretting  the  regimes  whose  downfall  she  had 
hastened,  she  had  but  one  desire,  that  of  avoid- 
ing any  conflict  which  might  endanger  her 
enormous  wealth  and  her  somnolent  peace.  The 
purifying  breath  of  battle,  the  call  to  self-sacri- 
fice, has  passed  over  the  liberated  Church  of 
France;  faith  and  hope,  and  perhaps  even 
charity,  are  filling  again  the  soul  of  her  priests : 
Aristide  Briand  may  be  canonized  yet.  Of  the 
Church  Somnolent,  the  old  Archbishop,  Car- 
dinal Chariot,  is  the  symbol;  but  there  is  also 
a  representative  of  the  true  Church  Mihtant, 
Abbe  Lantaigne,  the  austere,  uncompromising 
Director  of  the  Theological  Seminary.  Pro- 
fessor Bergeret,  the  doubter,  and  Abbe  Lan- 
taigne,  the  dogmatist,  respect   and  appreciate 

105 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

each  other.  The  scholar  admires  the  candour, 
the  logic,  and  the  learning  of  the  priest;  the 
priest  recognizes  in  Bergeret  a  keen,  well-in- 
formed mind,  who  knows  the  importance  of 
religious  problems  and  can  follow  a  syllogism. 
Neither  can  conceal  his  contempt  for  the  utter 
frivolity,  the  jellified  intellect,  of  his  respective 
colleagues.  The  discussions  between  Lantaigne 
and  Bergeret,  under  the  neutral  favourable 
shade  of  the  Elm  on  the  Mall,  are  carried  on  with 
old-world  leisure  and  formality;  delightful  for 
the  serious  reader,  they  are  lucid  and  witty 
enough  to  retain  the  attention  of  the  average 
subscriber  to  Le  Figaro.  If  Abbe  Lantaigne 
has  but  a  qualified  admiration  for  his  superiors, 
they  return  the  compliment  in  kind;  and  when 
the  See  of  Tourcoing  becomes  vacant.  Church 
and  State  unite  to  favour  Lantaigne 's  diplo- 
matic, unctuous,  fashionable  rival.  Abbe  Guitrel. 
Abbe  Lantaigne  calls  on  the  Archbishop  to  en- 
list his  support;  the  Archbishop  is  particularly 
anxious  not  to  commit  himself.  He  is  no  friend 
of  Lantaigne 's  and  neither  wishes  for,  nor  be- 
lieves in,  his  success:  but  the  austere,  theo- 
logian is  endorsed  by  some  of  the  most  sincere 
and  quietly  prominent  Catholics  in  the  diocese, 
1 06 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


So  His  Grace  shirks  the  difficulty  by  side-track- 
ing Lantaigne  on  to  his  favourite  subject,  Htur- 
gical  history.     He  has  an  embarrassing  case  ready 
for  him :  a  man  has  been  found  hanging  between 
the  outer  and  the  inner  doors  of  the  Church  of 
St.  Exupere:    is   the    church    to    be    considered 
desecrated  ?     Is  it  to  be  purified  and  rededicated, 
and  if  so,  according  to  what  rites  ?     Lantaigne 
easily  falls  into  the  trap:  was  the  suicide  found 
on  the  Gospel  side,  or  on  that  of  the  Epistle  ? 
Was  any  part  of  his  body  projecting  through  the 
door  into  the  nave  ?     And  on  he  goes,  for  an 
hour,  discussing    fine    points,    adducing    prece- 
dents,  a   formidable   array   of   authorities,    the 
Holy  Writ,  the  Fathers,  the  Councils.  .  .  .     He 
is  dismissed,  quivering  still  with  his  own  elo- 
quence and  learning — the  aim  of  his  visit  unful- 
filled and  forgotten.     In  the  street  he  chances 
upon    the    venerable    Rector    of    St.    Exupere, 
placidly  purchasing  cork  stoppers  for  his  wine 
bottles;  and  from  those  innocent  lips  he  learns 
of  the  trick  that   has   been  played   upon  him. 
"  That  man  will  never  say  the  truth,"  he  exclaims 
in  his  wrath,  "  except  at  the  altar,  when  he  con- 
fesses: *  Domine,  non  sum  dignus  !'  " 

There  is  in  The  Elm  on  the  Mall  an  episode. 

107 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

which  has  given  rise  to  different  interpreta- 
tions. Firmin  Piedagnel  is  a  student  in  the 
Theological  Seminary;  of  humble  origin,  some- 
what weakly  and  timid,  gentle  and  delicate,  he 
has  a  keen  appreciation  of  literature  and  art, 
unique  among  his  rustic  companions;  and  he 
has  an  inborn  love  for  the  sheltered,  quiet 
dignity  of  the  priestly  life,  for  the  charm  and 
beauty  of  religious  ceremonies.  Never  has  he 
felt  that  haunting,  spiritual,  and  even  sensuous 
appeal  of  the  Church  more  deeply  than  on  the 
day  when  he  was  summoned  to  serve  the 
Director's  Mass — a  special  favour.  Abbe  Lan- 
taigne  loves  the  lad ;  that  affection  is  one  of  the 
few  personal  feelings  that  the  self-mortifying 
priest  has  not  rooted  out  of  his  heart.  But  he 
sees  that  Piedagnel  is  a  pupil  of  Chateaubriand 
and  Renan;  that  he  loves  religion,  not  because 
it  is  true,  but  because  it  is  beautiful.  He  has 
some  sort  of  voluptuous  religiosity:  of  faith,  the 
rigid,  unquestioning  faith  alone  worthy  of  the 
name,  not  a  trace.  And  Lantaigne,  helped  by 
prayer,  dismisses  his  favourite  pupil.  Then, 
"  Piedagnel  felt  rising  and  growing  within  him 
a  sentiment  which  upheld  him  and  strengthened 
him — hatred  for  the  priests,  an  imperishable 
io8 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


and  fruitful  hatred,  a  hatred  such  as  would  fill 
his  whole  life.  Without  a  word,  he  left  the 
room."  Now,  there  is  in  those  words  a  strange 
note  of  passionate  sincerity,  rare  in  Anatole 
France.  The  state  of  mind  of  Piedagnel  before 
he  received  the  news  of  his  dismissal  was  evi- 
dently akin  to  the  experience  of  Anatole  France 
himself;  and  by  bringing  together  this  passage 
and  other  autobiographical  notes,*  some  critics 
have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  Anatole  France 
had  ever  hated  priests;  that  the  fierce  anticleri- 
calism  of  his  socialistic  period  was  but  the  reve- 
lation of  an  inborn  sentiment  concealed  from 
the  world  for  thirty  long  years.  If  such  were 
the  case,  his  powers  of  dissimulation  would  be 
even  greater  than  his  mastery  of  style.  It  is  of 
course  the  interest  of  conservative  writers  to 
prove  that  France's  anticlericalism  was  a  bhnd 
passion  rather  than  a  reasoned  opinion.  But  it 
is  singularly  dangerous  to  interpret  so  narrowly 
every  passage  in  a  work  of  fiction  that  happens 
to  have  an  autobiographical  ring.  Anatole 
France  is  not  Piedagnel,  any  more  than  he  is 
Sylvestre  Bonnard,  Jerome  Coignard,  Bergeret, 

*  E.g.,  some  in  The  Desires  of  Jean  Servien,  a  mediocre 
early  novel. 

109 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

or  Brotteaux  des  Islettes.  We  may  note  that 
at  the  very  moment  when  the  dismissed  scholar 
becomes  conscious  of  that  hatred  unquenchable, 
the  author  shows  us  Lantaigne  at  his  best :  stern 
no  doubt,  yet  tender,  full  of  love  for  the  youth 
whom  his  plain  duty  as  a  religious  director  com- 
pels him  to  drive  away.  The  truth  seems  to  be 
that  the  germs  of  conflicting  sentiments  had 
always  coexisted  in  the  subtle  mind  of  Anatole 
France.  He  may  have  despised  certain  priests; 
he  liked  and  admired  many.  He  had  at  least  a 
taste  for  the  Catholic  religion.  Now  it  is  true 
that  religion  soon  proved  to  be  a  great  disillu- 
sion to  him:  he  never  quite  felt  what  he  had 
hoped  to  feel;  and  a  source  of  disillusion  may 
easily  be  called  a  delusion.  The  doctrines  of  the 
Church  were  the  constant  condemnation  of  his 
own  habits  of  thought  and  life :  hence  a  feeling  of 
growing  hostility,  veiled  so  long  as  the  Church 
seemed  less  threatening  than  mob-violence.  The 
germs  of  the  conflict  were  sown  early — as  early 
as  his  college  course  at  Stanislas;  they  did  not 
raise  their  heads  above  ground  until  1890;  and 
when  the  Dreyfus  case  broke  out,  the  crop  was 
ripe  and  ready  to  be  garnered.  By  a  dramatic 
ellipse,  Anatole  France  has  concentrated  within 
no 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


one  morning,  in  the  soul  of  Piedagnel,  the  evo- 
lution which,  in  his  own  case,  had  covered  thirty 
or  forty  years. 


§  2.  Anatole  France  and  the  Dreyfus  Case. 

Authority    and     Liberty — The     Dressmaker's    Form — The 
Amethyst  Ring — M.  Bergeret  in  Paris. 

In  The  Dressmaker's  Form,  the  second  volume 
of  the  series,  Lantaigne  and  Guitrel  recede  into 
the  background,  and  the  conjugal  misfortunes 
of  M.  Bergeret  occupy  the  centre  of  the  stage. 
The  political  notes,  too,  harbingers  of  the  gather- 
ing storm,  are  more  clearly  heard.  M.  Bergeret, 
assistant  professor  of  Latin  literature,  is  a  path- 
etic compound  of  clear-sightedness,  longings,  and 
impotence.  He  is  distinguished,  yet  a  failure. 
Like  Voltaire,  like  Anatole  France  himself,  he 
would  fain  enjoy  luxury  and  the  company  of 
fair  women:  but  he  is  poor,  slight  of  build, 
bilious,  short-sighted,  hopelessly  academic  in 
appearance,  ill  at  ease  in  his  shiny  dress  suit. 
Madame  de  Gromance,  the  myriad-hearted,  who 
has  a  kindly  nod  for  every  one  of  her  innumerable 
admirers,  spurns  the  homage  of  his  timid  smile. 
When  the  frayed  buttonholes  of  his  dress  shirt 

III 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

refuse  to  perform  their  functions  any  more,  and 
part  company  with  the  studs,  he  feels  a  pang  of 
genuine  despair:  for  this  humble  domestic  event 
is  but  the  symbol  of  his  constant  and  dull  failure. 
In  his  profession,  he  is  not  appreciated ;  the 
enmity  of  his  President  has  exiled  him  into  a 
dark  and  damp  lecture-room  in  the  basement, 
whilst  the  fashionable  professor  of  mathematics 
charms  the  ladies  of  the  town  in  the  main  audi- 
torium. He  has  contracted  a  marriage — of  the 
kind  which  French  irony  calls  "  marriages  of 
convenience  " — with  a  woman  whose  soul  has 
ever  been  vulgar,  and  now  reveals  itself  in  the 
increasing  coarseness  of  her  body.  Madame 
Bergeret  is  the  daughter  of  Pouilly  the  Lexico- 
grapher, and  that  is  a  title  of  nobility  in  the 
academic  world;  she  has  always  considered  her 
union  with  Lucien  Bergeret  as  a  mesalliance. 
His  study  at  home  is  as  depressing  as  his  class- 
room in  college:  it  is  an  odd-shaped  space  left 
behind  the  bulging  round  wall  of  the  staircase; 
it  is  encumbered  with  Mme.  Bergeret 's  dress- 
maker's form,  a  constant  reminder  of  a  presence 
which  has  long  ceased  to  be  welcome,  either  in 
wicker-work  or  in  the  flesh.  Bergeret  is  a 
Frederic  Amiel:  a  keen  analytical  mind  with  no 

112 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


commensurate  powers  of  reconstruction,  and 
thus  struck  with  a  sort  of  paralysis.  He  seeks 
comfort  in  paradoxes  which  puzzle  and  horrify 
his  literal  wife  and  his  downright  President.  He 
has  but  few  friends:  an  Italian  collector  of 
medals,  with  whom  he  keeps  up  a  scholarly 
correspondence ;  Abbe  Lantaigne,  at  the  opposite 
pole  of  thought,  and  with  whom  intimacy  is  out 
of  the  question;  and  M.  Roux,  his  favourite 
pupil,  now  serving  his  time  in  the  army.  M. 
Bergeret  discovers  that  Mme.  Bergeret  and  M. 
Roux  have  deeper  interests  in  common  than 
Roman  epigraphy  or  the  Vergilius  Nauticus. 
When  this  momentous  revelation  is  forced  upon 
him,  his  first  impulse  is  the  savage,  primitive 
instinct  to  kill;  the  second  is  to  retire  into  his 
study,  where  it  takes  him  exactly  ninety  minutes 
to  recover  his  equanimity.  The  only  victim  is 
the  wicker  dressmaker's  form,  which  is  expelled 
from  the  study,  and  symbolically  thrown  out  of 
the  window.  Now  M.  Bergeret  is  master  in  his 
own  house :  the  next  task  is  to  expel,  by  less 
forcible  means,  a  being  whom  he  has  never  loved, 
and  for  whom  he  no  longer  feels  any  moral 
responsibility.  He  simply  ignores  her;  he  con- 
siders her  as  empty  space.  Mme.  Bergeret,  a  very 
^  113 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

substantial  woman,  cannot  breathe  in  such  a 
vacuum :  she  gasps  and  cries  for  mercy.  Lucien 
is  silently  inexorable.  Finally,  when  he  intro- 
duces into  the  house  a  half-witted  and  drunken 
servant,  who  plays  havoc  with  the  china  and 
flavours  the  meals  with  cinders,  the  erring  wife 
decides  to  depart,  and  a  new  life  begins  for  the 
professor.  As  usual  with  Anatole  France,  the 
conversations  are  the  charm  of  the  book.  But 
the  description  of  the  realities  of  life  in  a  house- 
hold compelled  to  keep  up  a  sort  of  shabby 
gentility  is  extraordinarily  convincing;  and  it 
is  given  in  a  language  of  classical  cadence  and 
dignity,  yet  wherein  the  most  common  terms  are 
used  with  perfect  fitness. 

The  third  book  of  the  series.  The  Amethyst 
Ring,  is  first  of  all  a  bitter  satire  against  the 
worldliness  of  the  Established  Church.  Under 
the  regime  of  the  Concordat,  bishops  were 
appointed  by  the  Government — that  is  to  say,  by 
the  free-thinking  ministers  of  an  anticlerical 
republic.  On  the  whole,  these  politicians  have 
shown  a  creditable  amount  of  sense  and  tact  in 
their  episcopal  preferments,  and  the  prelates  of 
their  choosing  compared  not  unfavourably  with 
those  of  previous  regimes  or  of  other  countries. 

114 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


But  intrigues  such  as  the  one  which  secured 
the  Bishopric  of  Tourcoing  for  Abb^  Guitrel, 
Lantaigne's  unworthy  competitor,  were  not  un- 
thinkable. The  de  Bonmont,  originally  Guten- 
berg, are  converted  and  naturalized  Jews,  Counts 
of  the  Pope,  and  whose  sole  desire  is  to  break 
into  the  most  exclusive  aristocratic  circles. 
Young  de  Bonmont  wants  to  be  invited  to  the 
Duke  de  Br^c^'s  hunting  parties,  which  would 
be  the  confirmation  of  his  social  claims.  Guitrel, 
who  has  some  influence  with  the  old  Catholic 
family,  can  help  him.  So  the  young  clubman 
and  the  priest  strike  a  bargain:  Guitrel  will 
further  the  worldly  ambitions  of  de  Bonmont, 
and  de  Bonmont  the  sacred  ambitions  of  Guitrel. 
The  devious  ways  through  which  the  coveted 
purple  cassock  and  ring  of  amethyst  are  secured 
cannot  bear  repeating:  the  fondness  of  Anatole 
France  for  licentious  scenes,  already  noticeable 
in  The  RStisserie,  assumes  in  this  and  all  sub- 
sequent books  the  proportions  of  a  disease. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  Madame  de  Gromance  is 
instrumental  in  placing  the  mitre  on  Guitrel's 
head,  and  the  crozier  in  his  hand.  After  all, 
this  is  but  the  revival  of  an  eighteenth-century 
tradition:  gossip  will  have  it  that  Madame  de 

"5 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

Pompadour  offered  Voltaire  a  cardinal's  hat,  if 
he  would  place  his  talent  at  the  service  of  the 
Church.  The  irony  of  the  tale  is  that  Abbe 
Guitrel  had  given  implicit  promises  that  he  would 
be  a  modern,  liberal  prelate,  willing  to  live  at 
peace  with  the  Republic,  its  laws  and  its  offi- 
cials. Hardly  was  he  seated  on  his  episcopal 
throne — by  the  impure  grace  of  Madame  de 
Gromance — but  he  showed  himself  more  un- 
compromising that  Lantaigne  would  have  been. 
And  the  old  radical  politician  Loyer  draws  the 
moral  of  the  story :  Priests  are  bound  to  be  our 
enemies:  so,  after  all,  it  would  be  better  policy 
to  promote  honest  adversaries  rather  than  smooth 
humbugs.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  the  biting 
irony  of  The  Amethyst  Ring  had  had  some  in- 
fluence in  preparing  public  opinion  for  the  separa- 
tion of  Church  and  State — one  of  the  most  bene- 
ficent measures  of  the  present  regime. 

Our  old  friend  Professor  Bergeret  takes  a  back 
seat,  but  is  not  quite  forgotten  in  this  book. 
The  Dreyfus  case,  now  at  its  height,  and  the 
welcome  removal  of  Mme.  Bergeret,  are  working 
a  deep  transformation  in  him.  His  mind  is  still 
many-sided  and  critical;  but  he  no  longer  in- 
dulges in  mere  destructive  paradoxes.     He  has 

ii6 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


sharply  defined  opinions,  and  he  is  wiUing  to 
defend  them  with  quiet  heroism.  His  conser- 
vative fellow-citizens  do  not  make  his  life  one  of 
pleasantness  and  peace.  But  he  goes  on,  un- 
dismayed. And,  we  are  glad  to  say,  his  obscure 
efforts  are  rewarded :  he  is  called  to  a  professor- 
ship in  Paris.  Although  a  philosopher,  Bergeret 
is  a  man.  When  still  under  the  impression  of 
his  wife's  treason,  he  had  expounded  to  his  new 
favourite  pupil,  M.  Goubin,  a  most  desperate 
conception  of  the  world:  life  is  but  a  disease, 
and  we  should  hope  that  other  planets  have  been 
spared  that  idle  swarming  of  unclean  and  wicked 
microbes.  A  few  months  later,  he  indulged 
before  the  same  confidant  in  beautiful  dreams 
of  universal  life  in  distant  stars.  M.  Goubin,  of 
a  literal  turn  of  mind,  ventured  to  call  his 
master's  attention  to  this  apparent  inconsis- 
tency: "A  few  months  ago,"  replied  M.  Ber- 
geret, "  a  few  months  ago,  I  had  not  been  made 
a  full  professor  in  Paris." 

But  the  most  interesting  character  in  The 
Amethyst  Ring  and  in  its  sequel,  M.  Bergeret  in 
Paris,  is  neither  the  scholar  nor  the  priest:  it 
is  Riquet,  a  Httle  yellow  dog,  whom  AngeHca, 
Bergeret 's  kindly  old  servant,  has  taken  in,  in 

117 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

order  to  cheer  and  comfort  her  master  in  his 
loneliness.  The  growing  friendship  between 
Riquet  and  Bergeret,  the  beautiful,  flowery  dis- 
quisitions that  the  philosopher  addresses  to  the 
puppy,  the  touches  of  quaint  humour,  the  blend 
of  realism  and  symbolism,  are  singularly  hard 
to  match  in  the  extensive  realm  of  dog  literature. 
The  great  event  that  sealed  their  friendship  was 
the  tumbling  down  of  Bergeret,  who,  tip-toe  on 
a  crazy  stool,  had  tried  to  reach  on  the  upper- 
most shelf  a  volume  of  Ottfried  Miiller's  Hand- 
book. "  At  the  crash  of  the  fall,  Riquet  had 
jumped  down  from  his  armchair,  and  run  towards 
his  unfortunate  master.  Close  by  him  now,  he 
kept  moving  about  in  anxious  hesitation,  he 
went  forward,  and  then  drew  back.  He  would 
approach,  urged  by  sympathy,  and  then  flee, 
moved  by  the  dread  of  a  mysterious  danger. 
He  perceived  clearly  that  a  catastrophe  had 
occurred:  but  his  mind  was  not  subtle  enough 
to  discover  its  causes:  hence  his  restlessness. 
Finally,  encouraged  by  the  calm  and  silence 
which  now  prevailed  again,  with  his  two  trem- 
bling forepaws  he  embraced  the  neck  of  M.  Ber- 
geret and  gazed  at  him  with  eyes  full  of  fear  and 
love.  And  the  fallen  master  smiled,  and  the 
Ii8 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


dog  licked  the  end  of  his  nose.  This  was  a 
great  comfort  for  M.  Bergeret,  who  freed  his 
right  leg,  stood  up,  and  went  back  to  his  arm- 
chair, limping  and  smiling." 

There  are  many  fine  passages  in  M.  Bergeret 
in  Paris — further  memories  of  childhood  in  the 
best  vein  of  The  Book  of  my  Friend,  pastiches 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  records  of  Riquet's 
thoughts  and  deeds.  But  the  tone  of  the  book 
is  more  purely  political  than  that  of  the  first 
three,  and  less  likely  to  appeal  to  a  foreign  public, 
or  even  to  a  later  generation  of  Frenchmen.  I 
might  quote,  however,  as  an  instance  of  France's 
Voltairian  irony,  Bergeret 's  interview  with  M. 
Panneton  de  la  Barge.  The  latter  is  a  landed 
proprietor,  conservative,  patriotic,  and  a  great 
admirer  of  the  Army.  He  cannot  conceal  his 
righteous  indignation  with  the  Dreyfusists — 
among  whom  M.  Bergeret  has  now  taken  a 
prominent  position — because  they  place  their 
idols,  truth  and  justice,  above  the  honour  of  the 
Army.  Well,  it  is  not  without  a  purpose  that 
M.  Panneton  de  la  Barge  has  sought  out  Bergeret, 
his  political  enemy.  Young  Hopeful  Panneton 
de  la  Barge  will  soon  be  of  military  age :  and  the 
question  is  to  send  him  to  some  school  granting 

119 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

a  diploma  that  will  excuse  him  from  two  out  of 
three  years  of  service.*  For  the  bourgeois 
believed  in  an  army  for  the  people,  just  as  they 
believed  in  a  god  for  the  people:  they  them- 
selves would  prefer  to  be  heroic  by  their  own 
firesides.  Young  Panneton  is  not  gifted  with 
the  kind  of  intellect  which  makes  a  standard 
advanced  degree  fairly  easy  of  access:  so  his 
father  wants  to  know  from  Bergeret  about  the 
technical  schools  whose  diplomas  are  accepted 
as  equivalent  for  the  regular  academic  titles, 
although  considerably  less  difficult.  The  Grad- 
uate School  of  Commerce  and  the  Agronomic 
Institute  are  suggested;  and  finally  Bergeret 
mentions  the  School  of  Modern  Oriental  Lan- 
guages. Young  Panneton  might  learn  Tamil 
or  Hindustani.  "  There  was,"  said  Bergeret,  "  a 
language  in  India  which  was  spoken  by  one  old 
woman  only,  the  last  of  her  race;  she  died,  but 
left  a  parrot ;  and  from  the  bill  of  that  parrot,  a 
German  scholar  collected  all  that  is  left  of  that 
speech.  It  is  now  taught  in  the  School  of  Modern 
Oriental  Languages.  Your  son  might  study 
that."  He  probably  did,  and  escaped  two  years 
of  penal  servitude :  for  in  that  light  was  barrack 

*  Under  the  military  law  of  1889. 
120 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


life  considered,  in  those  days.  I  must  add  that 
conditions  have  greatly  changed  within  the  last 
fifteen  years.  The  Army  has  become  more  of  a 
reality,  more  at  one  with  the  nation:  we  may 
regret  the  remilitarization  of  the  French  national 
spirit;  but  the  renationalization  of  the  military 
spirit  was  a  distinct  advantage.  With  the  deep- 
ening war-clouds  looming  on  the  horizon,  shirkers 
of  the  Panneton  type  have  become  few  and  far 
between.  And  young  Panneton,  now  some 
thirty  years  old,  and  an  officer  in  the  reserves,  is 
daily  offering  his  life  for  Justice  and  the  Father- 
land, reconciled  at  last. 

§  3.  Anatole  France  and  Socialism. 
Towards  a  Better  Age — On  the  White  Stone. 

In  M.  Bergeret  in  Paris  is  found  a  conversation 
between  the  Professor  and  the  Carpenter,  Rou- 
part.  This  is  a  symbol  of  the  union  between 
intellectual  workers  and  manual  labourers  in  the 
name  of  justice — one  of  the  finest  results  of  the 
Dreyfus  affair.  Roupart  is  a  Socialist.  Bergeret 
is  still  but  a  sympathetic  outsider.  At  least  he 
was  no  more  in  the  version  published  by  the 
Figaro :  socialism  was  ranked  with  early  Chris- 

121 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


tianity  as  a  noble  dream.  When  the  series 
appeared  in  book  form,  Bergeret — that  is  to  say, 
Anatole  France — had  taken  the  decisive  step. 
He  no  longer  qualified  his  sympathy  with  Rou- 
part.  He  was  a  socialistic  catechumen:  soon  he 
would  be  a  full-fledged  Socialist.  The  doubter 
had  seen  the  light ;  the  dilettante  accepted  a  set 
of  trenchant  affirmations;  the  man  of  taste  and 
culture,  fond  of  quiet  luxury,  turned  his  back  on 
the  drawing-rooms  of  the  aristocracy,*  and  went 
about  preaching  the  new  gospel,  in  dingy  subur- 
ban halls,  reeking  with  gas,  sweat,  cheap  tobacco 
and  booze.  This  at  fifty-seven,  at  the  height  of 
worldly  success  and  without  any  personal  ambi- 
tion: one  of  the  most  interesting  conversions,  or 
perversions,  in  recent  history.  I  do  not  want  to 
minimize  Zola's  sincerity  and  his  heroism:  yet 
his  plunge  into  active  politics,  on  the  democratic 
side,  was  by  no  means  so  surprising  as  that  of 
Anatole  France,  nor  so  meritorious.  Zola  had 
ever  been,  in  his  faults  as  well  as  in  his  virtues, 
a  man  of  the  people ;  he  had  long  announced  his 
intention  of  going  some  day  into  politics,  for 

*  Including  the  Academy,  the  last  home  of  polite  con- 
versation, "  le  dernier  salon  ou  Ton  cause."  Anatole 
France  kept  away  from  the  Academy,  in  self-imposed 
ostracism,  for  several  years. 

122 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


which  his  combative  temperament  and  his  love  of 
notoriety  fitted  him.  The  Dreyfus  case  gave  him 
a  splendid  opening,  and  he  found  the  Socialist 
army  already  drilled  and  eager  to  fight.  The 
case  was  altogether  different  with  Anatole  France. 
He  joined  the  organization  and  submitted  to 
the  discipline  of  the  Socialist  party  as  a  private 
soldier.  He  could  not  be  tempted  to  accept  any 
position  of  authority:  he  declined  the  "  safe" 
constituencies  that  were  offered  him.  But  he 
did  not  shirk  humbler  duties.  He  did  yeoman's 
service,  writing  articles,  manifestos,  pamphlets, 
speaking  in  conventions  and  political  meetings. 
And  his  socialism  had  the  beautiful  humani- 
tarian tinge  of  the  early  days  of  '48.  He 
was  not  harping  all  the  time  on  the  distress 
of  his  hearers,  fanning  diffidence,  envy,  hatred 
into  revolt;  he  tried  to  rouse  their  sympathy  in 
favour  of  distant  victims — the  Finns,  the  Poles, 
the  Armenians.  With  Jaur^s  he  strained  every 
nerve  against  the  revival  of  aggressive  militarism 
of  the  last  ten  years,  which  has  hurled  Europe 
into  hell ;  he  denounced  land-grabbing  masquera- 
ding as  peaceful  penetration ;  he  branded  armour- 
plate  patriotism  and  the  international  lobby  of 
gun  manufacturers — Krupp,  Schneider,  Vickers- 

123 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

Maxim.  He,  the  exquisite  polisher  of  jewelled 
phrases,  worked  in  favour  of  simpler  forms  of 
beauty,  bathed  in  sympathy  and  pity,  creating 
a  closer  harmony  between  the  soul  of  a  people 
and  the  small  brotherhood  of  artists.  Whoever 
reads  the  collection  of  his  democratic  speeches, 
Towards  a  Better  Age,*  cannot  fail  to  be  impressed 
with  his  activity  and  his  sincerity. 

Had  he  really  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  New 
Jerusalem  ?  We  turn  with  eager  expectation  to 
his  Utopia,  On  the  White  Stone.  The  book  is 
curiously  constructed :  two  stories,  one  of  the 
past,  the  other  of  the  future,  chased  in  a  series 
of  conversations  dealing  with  contemporary 
events.  The  first,  "  Gallio,"  a  tale  of  Roman 
Greece,  is  meant  to  illustrate  the  utter  blindness 
of  even  the  most  liberal  and  cultured  classes  to 
movements  that  do  not  originate  with  them — 
and  what  movement  could  originate  with  them, 
who  represent,  by  their  very  nature,  self-satis- 
faction and  conservatism  ?  Gallio  thinks  of  the 
squabbles  among  the  Jews,  which  he  is  called 
upon  to  adjudge,  in  the  same  terms  as  a  French 
administrator  in  Morocco  would  think  of  a  dis- 
pute between  two  sets  of  Mohammedan  fanatics. 

*   Vers  les  Temps  Meilleuvs. 
124 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


Yet  Gallio's  world  was  doomed,  and  in  Paul's 
were  enclosed  the  germs  of  the  future.*  This 
puts  us  in  the  right  mood  for  listening  to  the 
Utopia  proper,  Through  the  Gate  of  Horn  and 
the  Gate  of  Ivory.  I  have  read  as  many  Utopian 
romances  as  I  could  lay  my  hands  on;  it  is  a 
fascinating  branch  of  literature.  But  I  cannot 
think  of  any  one  quite  so  trite  and  so  utterly  dis- 
appointing as  that  of  Anatole  France.  His  new 
Jerusalem  would  make  us  regret  the  chaotic, 
cruel,  sensual  Babylon  of  to-day,  which,  with  all 
its  faults,  has  life  in  it,  and  love,  and  hope. 
The  formulation  of  a  desire  enables  us  to  anti- 
cipate its  realization;  but  every  wish  that  is 
fulfilled  ceases  to  be  a  source  of  wonder  and  joy, 
whilst  hope  unsatisfied  remains  a  constant  cause 
of  torment.  An  optimistic  Utopia,  a  dream  of 
a  self-satisfied,  static  world,  is  bound  to  be 
dismal.  The  only  Utopias  of  unflagging  interest 
are  those  that  are  satirical  or  pessimistic,  like 
Butler's    Erewhon,    Wells's    Time- Machine   and 

*  Anatole  France  had  already  treated  a  similar  theme, 
and  very  successfully,  in  his  tale:  "  The  Procurator  of 
Judaea."  But  the  spirit  was  different.  The  earlier  story 
is  a  veiled  satire  on  Christianity;  in  the  second,  France's 
sympathy  has  veered  from  the  cultured  classes  to  the 
people. 

125 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


When  the  Sleeper  Wakes,  or  Halevy's  History  of 
Four  Years. 

The  hopeless  mediocrity  of  France's  Utopia 
is  but  the  symbol  of  a  more  profound  failure. 
Perhaps  he  was  too  old  to  embrace  new  ideas 
with  unreasoning  enthusiasm.  And  the  times 
were  not  favourable.  The  magnificent  spiritual 
storm  of  the  Dreyfus  case  had  left  the  atmosphere 
unpurified.  The  heterogeneous  army  of  justice 
and  truth  had  dissociated  into  its  original  ele- 
ments :  the  bourgeois  went  back  to  the  defence 
of  their  privileges,  the  people  to  their  dreams 
of  upheaval.  The  ideal  of  class  reconciliation 
survived  only  as  the  policy  of  class  compromise. 
I  cannot  condemn  either  party:  there  were 
honest  men  in  both,  and  to  call  Millerand, 
Briand,  Viviani,  Clemenceau,  apostates  and  turn- 
coats would  be  the  rankest  injustice.  Did  they 
sell  the  people's  birthright  for  a  mess  of  pottage  ? 
But  pottage  is  good,  the  people  were  hungry, 
and  the  birthright,  after  all,  was  not  sold  out- 
right. The  political  situation,  after  1905,  was 
more  discouraging  than  ever  before.  Very  few 
abuses  had  been  corrected.  Even  the  military 
courts  which  had  twice  condemned  an  innocent 
remained  unreformed.  The  high  road  of  which 
126 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


we  had  caught  a  gUmpse  seemed  to  break  up 
again  into  a  maze  of  tortuous  bypaths .  Radical , 
anticlerical,  anti-Caesarian  France  was  still  com- 
mitted to  the  old  policies :  distrust  of  democracy, 
protection  of  capital,  territorial  expansion.  It 
was  a  period  of  hypocritical  shilly-shallying. 
Drude,  d'Amade,  Lyautey,  Gouraud,  Mangin, 
were  conquering  Morocco,  by  the  irrefutable 
right  that  machine-guns  establish  in  an  argu- 
ment with  flint-locks :  but  we  unctuously  called 
it  "  peaceful  penetration."*  Battleships  were 
built :  but  they  were  baptized  Truth,  Democracy , 
Justice  ;  and  cruisers,  but  they  received  the  names 
of  Jules  Michelet  and  Ernest  Renan.  No  wonder 
that  the  flame  of  enthusiasm  grew  dim  in  the 
heart  of  Anatole  France. f 

But  there  was  a  deeper  cause  still  for  his 
discouragement — one  found  in  his  own  heart. 
His  destructive  criticism  had  left  no  authority 
standing    but    that    of    human    instincts.     The 

*  "  A  distinction  must  be  made,"  said  the  officially  in- 
spired Temps,  "between  the  penetration  itself,  which  is 
peaceful,  and  its  instrument,  which  is  military." 

f  It  was  at  that  time  that  he  wrote  his  extensive  and 
elaborate  Life  of  Joan  of  Arc.  A  new  cult  for  the  Maid 
was  a  sign  of  the  revival  of  nationalism ;  a  few  chance  words 
of  Prof.  Thalamas  had  created  a  storm.  Anatole  France 
took  his  best  Voltairian  pen,  and  attempted  to  prove  that^ 

127 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

result  could  not  be  good,  unless  such  instincts 
were  good.  A  century  after  the  Revolution, 
,  Anatole  France  knew  only  too  well  that  the  mob 
is  full  of  ignorance  and  cowardly  violence: 
Rousseauism  pure  and  simple  did  not  delude 
him.  If  only  prejudices  were  swept  away,  if 
only  Reason — that  is  to  say,  human  nature  in 
its  full  consciousness  and  freedom — could  prevail ; 
if  the  world  were  composed  only  of  such  citizens 
as  Anatole  France  !  Aye,  what  would  the  result 
be  then  ?  And  France  probes  his  own  heart : 
he  finds  therein  curiosity,  sympathy,  pity  indeed, 
but  also  passionate  desire,  the  desire  for  the 
good  things  of  this  world,  the  thirst  for  pleasure. 
If  this  world  be  the  sole  reality  we  are  assured 
of,  who  can  refute  the  preacher's  advice:  "  Eat, 
drink,  and  be  merry  "  ?  Be  merry  !  Not  at 
sixty,  with  the  ice  of  age  creeping  up  and  be- 
numbing your  knees.     The  quest  of  pleasure  I 

after  all,  there  was  nothing  so  very  wonderful  in  the  career 
of  a  shepherdess  reconquering  France  for  her  legitimate 
King.  A  thankless  task,  and  a  great  waste  of  conscien- 
tious industry.  Anatole  France  had  many  of  the  qualifi- 
cations of  the  chronicler;  he  lacked  the  foremost  virtue  of 
the  historian,  which  is  sympathy.  In  style,  his  Joan  of 
Arc  is  a  painful  compromise  between  Voltairian  French 
and  an  archaic  pastiche. 

128 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


A  tempting  gospel  indeed  for  the  young  in  all 
their  strength  and  beauty;  in  the  hoary  sinner, 
the  ecstatic  smile  of  Romeo  becomes  the  leer 
of  a  satyr.  There  is  nothing  so  distressing  as  the 
eroticism  of  an  imagination  which  sullies  that 
which  it  can  no  longer  enjoy.  Between  pages 
of  serene  wisdom  and  generous  pity,  we  find  in 
all  the  later  works  of  Anatole  France  growing 
evidences  of  a  veritable  disease.  The  promise 
of  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth,  held  out  by 
Socialism,  was  fading  away  in  the  poisonous 
mists  of  the  political  quagmire;  the  faith  in  the 
natural  man  must  be  wrecked  in  France's  heart 
by  the  consciousness — the  self-consciousness — 
that  the  natural  man  is  a  beast.  And  the  result, 
in  spite  of  success,  genius,  heartfelt  sympathy, 
generous  activity — the  result  is  despair. 


Discouragement  and  Cynicism. 

Penguin  Island — The  Gods  are  Athirst — The  Revolt 
of  the  Angels. 

The    most    typical    products    of   this    fourth 

period   are  Penguin   Island  and    The   Gods  are 

Athirst.     The  latter  is  an  historical  novel  of  the 

French    Revolution,    wherein    Anatole    France 

K  129 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

returns  to  his  father's  loathing  for  that  cataclysm. 
Evariste  Gamelin,  the  Terrorist,  is  one  of  those 
fools  who  believe  in  virtue.  Such  fanatics  are 
harmless  enough  when,  like  Father  de  Longue- 
mare,  they  are  too  unworldly  to  act;  practical 
energy  makes  them  dangerous,  for  they  wish  to 
enforce  virtue  by  law,  and  the  law  by  the  rule 
of  the  guillotine.  Gamelin  is  a  strange  mixture 
of  lust  and  Jacobin  enthusiasm.  Brotteaux 
des  Islettes,  the  author's  spokesman,  is  naught 
but  a  voluptuary,  saved  from  degradation  by  a 
certain  degree  of  easy  kindness  and  elegant 
culture:  a  more  fortunate  Coignard,  who  has 
thrown  off  the  theological  mask.  The  atmos- 
phere of  the  whole  book  is  sickening  with  an 
odour  of  rottenness  and  blood.  Penguin  Island, 
in  part  a  great  book,  is  a  symbolical  history  of 
France,  in  the  framework  of  a  Voltairian  tale. 
St.  Mael,  sailing  over  strange  seas,  alone  in  his 
vessel  of  granite,  descries  an  island  whose 
inhabitants,  clad  of  sober  black  and  white,  are 
standing  in  circles,  visibly  engaged  in  discussion. 
He  blesses  them  and  baptizes  them.  But  the 
poor  old  saint  was  short-sighted,  and  it  was 
penguins,*  not  men,  that  he  has  summoned  to 

*  Strictly  auhs,  according  to  Prof.  J.  S.  Huxley. 
130 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


eternal  life.  Will  the  gates  of  Paradise  open  to 
the  Penguin  folk  ?  The  discussion  of  this 
thorny  question  in  heaven  is  irreverent  but 
entertaining.  Finally  it  is  decreed  that  the 
Penguins  baptized  by  St.  Mael  will  be  turned 
into  men,  and  the  rest  of  the  book  is  an  abstract 
of  their  chronicles.  We  pass  in  review  the 
dark  ages,  the  Middle  Ages,  the  Renaissance 
and  the  classical  period.  A  brief  but  pungent 
chapter  is  devoted  to  Trinco,  or  Napoleon. 
One-fourth  of  the  whole  volume  treats  of  the 
Dreyfus  case :  no  cheerful  reading,  for  the  author, 
in  his  disenchantment,  pours  the  same  heavy 
sarcasm  on  his  own  friends  as  on  his  adversaries. 
The  seventh  part  is  devoted  to  contemporary 
scandals  of  a  private  nature :  it  may  be  of  some 
interest  to  the  initiated  who  can  place  the  real 
names  under  the  pseudonyms  Cer^s  and  Visire: 
for  the  average  public,  it  is  dismal  in  its  frigid 
salaciousness.  The  tone  rises  in  the  last  part, 
which  is  sombre,  but  strange  and  beautiful : 
"  Fifteen  million  men  were  working  in  the  giant 
city."  Penguin  civilization  has  reached  the 
utmost  degree  of  material  prosperity  and  cor- 
ruption. It  is  radically  destroyed  by  anarchists. 
Barbarism  covers  again  the  face  of  the  earth, 

131 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

the  very  memory  of  Penguin  Island  is  lost. 
Slowly,  mankind  emerges  from  brutishness,  and 
resumes  its  weary  crawling  towards  a  goal  which 
it  can  never  attain.  And  the  chapter  closes, 
in  bitter  irony,  with  the  description  of  a  splendid, 
heartless  civilization,  rushing  headlong  to  its 
ruin:  "  Fifteen  million  men  were  working  in  the 
giant  city." 

Meanwhile,  Anatole  France  had  kept  his  pot 
a-boiling  with  a  slight  novel,  Histoire  Comique, 
a  tale  of  theatrical  life  in  Paris,  and,  as  may  be 
surmised,  not  strictly  edifying;  with  collections 
of  short  stories,  Bluebeard,  The  Tales  of  Jacquot 
Tournebroche,  Crainquebille ,  Putois,  Riquet,  etc. 
In  Crainquebille,  the  sketch  of  an  old  Parisian 
street  vendor  and  of  his  troubles  with  the  police, 
Anatole  France  has  scored  a  distinct  success. 
Many  of  the  other  tales  are  surprisingly  mediocre.* 
As  for  his  last  novel.  The  Revolt  of  the  Angels, 
chaotic  in  construction,  anarchistic  in  philo- 
sophy,   it    derived    what    measure    of   financial 

*  Just  before  the  war,  several  daily  papers  in  Paris  were 
publishing,  not  one,  but  several  short  stories  every  day, 
some  of  them  signed  by  the  most  illustrious  names  in  French 
literature.  The  result  of  this  excessive  favour  of  the  short 
story  has  been  its  irremediable  vulgarization.  A  critic 
must  now  handle  a  ton  of  ore  to  extract  an  ounce  of  gold. 

132 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


success  it  has  achieved  from  its  deHberate  and 
painstaking  Hcentiousness.  A  melancholy  sun- 
set for  a  great  career  ! 

§  4.  The  War.     Conclusion. 
On  the  Glorious  Path. 

At  the  outbreak  of  the  war,  Anatole  France's 
attitude  was,  on  the  whole,  intelligible  and 
dignified.  With  the  other  Socialists,  he  wanted 
to  avert  the  conflict.  When  the  country  was 
forced  into  the  fray,  he  wanted  to  express  his 
sympathy  with  her  as  one  of  the  champions  of 
democracy  and  justice.  Like  Victor  Hugo  in 
1870,  he  solicited  the  privilege  of  wearing  the 
uniform  of  a  French  soldier — a  bit  of  sentiment 
and  of  symbolism  at  which  no  one,  friend  or  foe, 
would  dare  to  smile.  At  first  at  least,  like 
Romain  Rolland  and  Gustave  Herve,  he  at- 
tempted to  remain  potentially  a  good  European, 
to  look  beyond  the  present  strife,  and,  in  days 
of  blind  hatred,  to  speak  of  future  reconciliation. 
He  has  placed  his  pen  at  the  service  of  his 
country,  and  has  contributed  articles,  full  of 
Isimple  manliness,  to  the  Bulletin  that  the 
[Republic  distributes  to  her  soldiers.     These  and 

133 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


other  occasional  pieces  have  been  reprinted  in 
his  latest  book,  Sur  la  Vote  Glorieuse  {On  the 
Glorious  Path)*  May  he  live  to  see  Europe 
born  anew  !  May  the  doom  of  autocrats  and 
the  reconciliation  of  nations  cheer  his  old  heart, 
in  which  there  ever  were  so  much  pity,  so  much 
love,  such  a  burning  desire  for  justice  ! 
May  his  soul  be  cleansed  at  last  from  carnal 
corruption,  so  that  we  may  find  again  in  him  the 
tenderness  and  purity  of  Sylvestre  Bonnard  ! 

*  Not  "  On  the  Path  to  Glory,"  as  we  have  seen  it  trans- 
lated. It  is  the  path  itself,  the  present  effort,  which  is 
glorious;  not  the  result,  which  might  go  to  numbers  rather 
than  to  heroism. 


134 


CHAPTER  IV 
PIERRE    LOTI 


CHAPTER  IV. 

PIERRE  LOTI. 

Simple  and  strange  and  infinitely  sad,  the 
eternal  pilgrim  of  the  sea  and  of  love:  such  is 
Pierre  Loti,  the  most  original,  the  most  delicate 
and  yet  the  most  popular  of  contemporary 
French  novelists.  No  knowledge  of  French  life 
and  politics  is  needed  in  order  to  understand  him, 
and  he  does  not  attempt  to  throw  any  light 
upon  the  menacing  problems  of  the  day.  His 
roving  life  and  his  polychromous  love  affairs 
have  not  made  him  un,- French :  a  great  traveller, 
he  can  hardly  be  called  a  cosmopolitan.  But, 
whether  at  home  or  abroad,  he  stands  aloof 
from  the  artificial  structure  of  civilization.  He 
is  as  indifferent  to  constitutional  forms  and 
political  questions  in  France  as  in  Morocco,  in 
Turkey  as  in  India.  Old  Morocco  was  more 
appealing  in  its  barbaric  isolation  than  the 
Americanized,  hustling  mart  of  Casablanca — 
therefore  all  his  sympathies  go  to  old  Morocco. 
In  the  very  title  of  his  book  on  India,  he  warns 

137 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

us  that  the  English  element,  materialistic,  prac- 
tical, political,  unpicturesque,  will  be  ignored: 
VInde    {sans     tes    Anglais).      Whether     King, 
Emperor,  President,  Dictator  or  Demagogue  be 
ruler  in   France,   Loti  would  still  be  Loti:  an 
artist,  and  above  all  a  poet.     Essentially  lyrical, 
he  has  no  claim  to  objectivity ;  and  when  accused 
of  monotony,  he  pleads  guilty,  but  not  without 
pride.     "  Those  writers,"  he  says,"  who  are  able 
at  a  certain  moment  to  be  different  from  them- 
selves;  those   who   can,   for   example,   write   a 
mystic  play  after  an  atheistic  poem,  have  no 
soul,  are  naught  but  hired  amusers.     The  true 
poets,  in  the  freest,  widest  sense  of  the  term, 
are  those  who  were  born  with  but  two  or  three 
songs  that  they  needs  must  sing  at  any  cost,  and 
which  are  always  the  same.     What  matters  it, 
after  all,  if  they  sing  them  every  time  with  their 
whole  heart  ?"      Loti  is  not  a  realist  and  not  an 
ideahst ;  not  a  democrat  and  not  a  conservative ; 
he  has  no  cause  to  defend,  no  thesis  to  prove: 
"  Without  ever  coming  to  a  conclusion,  he  has 
done  nothing  but  sing  his  awe-struck  admiration 
before  the  changing  immensity  of  the  world,  and 
utter  his  cry  of  revolt  and  despair  before  death." 
He  is  a  poet  pure  and  simple — a  sensitive  child, 
138 


PIERRE  LOTI 


amused  for  a  moment  by  the  multifarious  splen- 
dour of  the  visible  universe;  a  wanderer  ever 
attempting  to  find  himself  and  to  flee  from  him- 
self; a  mystic  without  a  faith,  who  can  but 
dream,  yearn,  and  despair. 

§  I.  Education. 
Feminine  influences — Protestantism — The  sea. 

Julien  Viaud  was  born  at  Rochefort  in  1850. 
Like  Anatole  France,  he  has  given  us  a  record 
of  his  childhood.  His  Romance  of  a  Child  has 
no  spark  of  the  wit  and  humour  so  abundant  in 
The  Book  of  my  Friend.  But  it  is  exquisitely 
delicate  and  tender.  The  quays  of  Paris,  the 
very  core  of  French  culture,  were  the  first  and 
best  teachers  of  young  Anatole  Thibault.*  No 
such  favour  fell  to  the  lot  of  Julien  Viaud. 
Aunis  and  Saintonge  are,  I  believe,  the  most 
desperately  flat  provinces  in  the  whole  of  France ; 
and  Rochefort,  his  native  city,  is  a  most  artifi- 
cial creation  of  the  seventeenth  century,  built 
on  the  chessboard  plan  so  dear  to  the  American 
mind.  Strange  to  say,  the  world-traveller, 
whose  eyes  have  feasted  on  the  choicest  bits  of 
*  Anatole  France. 

139 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

scenery  that  this  globe  affords,  has  remained 
passionately  attached  to  the  humble,  uninterest- 
ing place  of  his  birth.  For  us  whose  lot  it  is  to 
live  in  a  country  flatter  than  Saintonge  and  in 
a  city  more  symmetrical  than  Rochefort,  Loti's 
example  should  be  a  source  of  unspeakable  com- 
fort. It  proves  that  the  strangest  flower  of 
poetry  can  thrive  even  in  the  most  unpicturesque 
surroundings. 

Loti's  family  was  of  old  Huguenot  stock.  Pro- 
testantism is  still  firmly  rooted  in  those  parts, 
which,  after  the  death  of  Henry  IV.,  formed  the 
dream  of  becoming  an  independent  republic — 
the  Netherlands  of  France.  La  Rochelle,  their 
heroic  capital,  is  but  a  few  miles  to  the  north. 
Some  of  Loti's  ancestors  fled  to  Holland  at  the 
time  of  the  great  persecution.  Others  remained 
in  the  dismal,  low-lying  island  of  Oleron,  where 
the  memory  of  their  long  sojourn  was  still  pre- 
served in  Loti's  childhood.  Pierre  Loti  is  one 
of  the  very  few  Protestant  writers  in  modern 
French  literature;  and,  on  the  surface,  the  least 
Protestant  of  all.  Yet  the  evening  prayer  of 
the  whole  household,  the  big  family  Bible,  left 
upon  his  soul  an  imprint  that  naught  could 
efface.     In    the   religion   of   his   parents,   there 

140 


PIERRE  LOTI 


were  none  of  those  superficial  graces  which 
attracted  for  a  moment  the  precocious  dilettante 
in  Anatole  France,  and  left  him  bereft  of  genuine 
spirituality.  When  young  Loti  wanted  to  be- 
come a  minister  and  then  a  missionary,  it  was 
not,  like  young  France,  in  order  to  print  an 
honourable  title  ("  Martyr  and  Saint  of  the 
Calendar  ")  on  his  visiting  cards.  To  a  depth 
beyond  the  reach  of  theologies,  Pierre  Loti  has 
remained  a  Christian.  But  French  Protestant- 
ism, through  no  fault  of  its  own,  is  no  longer 
a  vital  force  in  national  life.  It  is  an  interest- 
ing survival  rather  than  a  germ  of  the  future. 
The  victim  of  a  tragic  but  irremediable  injustice, 
it  cannot  help  arguing  over  and  over  again  a 
case  that  was  settled  by  force  two  hundred  years 
ago.  Hence  an  excessive  sentiment  of  tradi- 
tion ;  a  tendency  to  self-righteousness  —  and 
from  self-righteousness  to  pharisaism  the  transi- 
tion is  almost  imperceptible;  the  despondency 
of  a  lost  cause  deepening  the  gloom  of  a  pessi- 
mistic theology;  a  certain  coldness  and  artifici- 
ality in  its  forms  of  worship.  All  this  repelled 
the  soul  of  Loti,  ardent  and  eager  for  love.  The 
rehgious  jargon  known  among  Huguenots  as 
"  the  patois   of  Chanaan  "  sickened   him.     No 

141 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

living  writer  has  proclaimed  so  early  and  so  un- 
compromisingly his  estrangement  from  the  faith 
of  his  race;  and  logically  enough,  he  came  to 
the  conclusion  that 

"  It  were  better  done,  as  others  use 
To  sport  with  AmaryUis  in  the  shade. 
Or  with  the  tangles  of  Neaera's  hair." 

But  earthly  love  could  not  fill  the  yearning  of 
his  heart,  and  an  aching  void  marked  for  ever 
the  place  of  the  unforgotten  hope. 

Of  his  father,  Loti  has  very  little  to  say;  his 
brother  was  much  older  than  himself  and  seemed 
to  belong  to  a  different  generation.  So  the  little 
boy  was  brought  up  in  the  large,  austere  family 
home,  carefully  tended,  and  spoilt  within  reason, 
by  his  mother,  his  sister,  and  his  aunts.  To 
these  feminine  influences  are  due  many  of  the 
traits  of  his  character:  his  sensitiveness,  his 
depths  of  pity,  his  longing  for  love,  the  deep- 
rooted  purity  and  delicacy  which  enabled  him 
to  write  the  best  pages  of  his  Iceland  Fisherman, 
and  which  he  preserved  even  in  his  wildest  ad- 
ventures. Perhaps  also  his  fondness  for  animals : 
like  all  true  poets,  and  like  most  old  maids,  Loti 
is  a  lover  of  cats,  and  does  not  much  appreciate 
the  boisterous  and  vulgar  companionship  of  dogs. 

142 


PIERRE  LOTI 


I  am  afraid  that  our  Rough-Rider  might  find  in 
his  rich  vocabulary  a  few  unpleasant  epithets 
for  Pierre  Loti;  and  I  was  told  that  the  fasti- 
diousness of  his  appearance  and  the  uncanny 
gloss  of  his  moustache  had  created  an  unfavour- 
able impression  in  New  York,  when  he  came 
over  to  superintend  the  staging  of  his  Chinese 
play,  The  Daughter  of  Heaven.  Needless  to 
say  that  the  words  effeminacy  and  cissiness 
would  be  ridiculously  wide  of  the  mark.  Yet 
there  is  that  in  Loti  which  might  easily  be  mis- 
interpreted by  men  made  of  sterner  or  coarser 
stuff. 

These  qualities  and  these  faults  were  not 
corrected  by  his  school  education:  he  received 
his  early  training  from  private  tutors,  of  whom 
he  has  left  us  rather  savage  caricatures.  When 
he  attended  the  Lyc^e,  it  was  as  a  day  pupil ;  he 
was  spared  intimate  and  constant  contact  with 
rough  boys  of  his  own  age — an  experience  some- 
times wholesome,  but  as  often  degrading.  Like 
Anatole  France,  he  was  a  fairly  good  student  in 
his  own  amateurish  way,  and  did  not  shine  in 
literary  composition.  Theirs  were  exceptional 
cases,  in  apparent  support  of  the  fallacy  that 
budding  geniuses  are  never  appreciated  by  their 

143 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

schoolmasters  —  a  fallacy  as  baseless  as  the 
alleged  knavery  of  ministers'  sons.  Most  of  our 
great  writers  made  brilliant  records  at  school. 
The  loose  composition  which  may  add  an  unde- 
finable  charm  to  the  mature  books  of  France  and 
Loti  was  a  positive  fault  in  the  essays  of  young 
collegians  devoid  as  yet  of  genuine  originality. 
Of  Loti's  failure  to  get  good  marks  I  should  say 
what  a  temperance  advocate  said  of  the  miracle 
at  Cana:  "  Ce  n'est  pas  ce  qu'il  a  fait  de 
mieux." 

Loti's  first  vocation  was  the  ministry,  soon 
changed  to  foreign  missions.  The  call  of  the 
vast  world  without  was  already  heard.  Roche- 
fort,  although  an  inland  city,  lies  on  a  navigable 
stream,  and  possesses  an  arsenal  accessible  to 
the  smaller  war  vessels.  Loti  discovered  with 
delight  old  log-books  in  his  father's  library;  most 
of  his  neighbours  had  friends  and  relatives  in 
that  vague  Utopia  called  "  the  Colonies."  Did 
not  an  old  Senegalese  woman  at  Goree  later 
claim  a  shadowy  cousinship  with  him  ?  His 
brother  had  already  embraced  the  seafaring 
life.  When  the  boy  saw  the  sea  for  the  first 
time,  his  heart  recognized  her.  So  the  sensitive 
and  pensive  child,  nervous,  passionately  fond 

144 


PIERRE  LOTI 


of  music — "  mother's  pet  " — decided  to  become, 
and  became,  indeed,  a  naval  officer — than  which 
there  is  no  rougher  and  manher  career.  And 
he  acquitted  himself  like  a  man.  Captain  Julien 
Viaud  could  hardly  be  expected  to  become  one 
of  the  great  leaders  of  the  French  Navy :  he  has 
devoted  too  much  of  his  time  to  literature  for 
that.  But  his  professional  record,  although  not 
dazzling,  is  creditable.  When  he  might  have 
retired  to  enjoy  his  fame,  Loti  faced  unflinch- 
ingly, for  many  a  long  year,  the  lurking  dangers 
and  the  constant  drudgery  of  his  calling.  We 
may  add  that  he  was  served  by  a  healthy  and 
well-trained  body :  that  a  poetic  soul  should  find 
its  habitat  in  a  wasted  frame  is  another  exploded 
fallacy.  Although  slight  of  build,  Loti  is  an 
athlete,  and  almost  an  acrobat.  A  strange  con- 
trast, in  appearance,  that  a  tender  and  melan- 
choly dreamer  should  prove  a  success  in  such  a 
stern  profession — just  as  strange  as  the  contrast 
between  his  mystic  yearnings  and  his  nihilistic 
intellect,  between  the  ineffaceable  puritanism 
of  his  soul  and  the  reckless  epicuranianism  of  his 
early  life  !  Are  such  contrasts  so  rare  ?  It 
seems  to  be  a  universally  accepted  fact  that  the 
grimmest  sea-dogs  may  have  in  their  hearts 
L  145 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

treasures  of  shy  and  naive  tenderness.  Only 
there  is  not  a  sea-dog  in  a  milhon  that  can  write 
and  dares  to  write  Uke  Loti. 


§  2.  LoTi's  Novels:  i 879-1 892. 

Exotic  idylls — My  Brother  Yves — The  Iceland  Fisherman — 
Madame  Chrysanthemum. 

Young  Loti  seems  to  have  availed  himself  to 
the  full  of  the  sailor's  privilege :  he  had  a  wife  in 
every  port,  from  Papeetee  to  Dakar  and  Oran, 
from  Nagasaki  to  Cattaro  and  Constantinople :  a 
rainbow  of  strange  heroines,  Rarahu,  Azyade, 
Suleima,  Fatou-Gaye,*  Pascuala  Ivanowitch, 
Madame  Chrysanthemum.  The  framework  of 
several  of  his  early  tales  is  the  same ;  the  young 
officer  lands,  buys  a  local  costume,  learns  a  few 
words  of  the  language,  and  then  sallies  forth  in 
quest  of  "  das  ewig  Weibliche."  The  man-of- 
war's  station  comes  to  an  end.  The  bride  of  a 
few  days  weeps,  and,  if  she  be  a  proper  heroine, 
dies.  The  officer  is  sorry,  very  sorry  indeed. 
Not  so  much  for  her  as  for  himself — for  is  he  not 

*  The  Spahi's  Romance,  in  which  Fatou-Gaye  appears, 
does  not  claim  to  be  autobiographical.  One  must  draw 
the  line  somewhere. 

146 


PIERRE  LOTI 


a  poet — that  is  to  say,  the  quintessence  of  selfish- 
ness ? — and  he  finds  in  this  very  remorse  and  in 
his  self-pity  a  dehcious  torment  of  which  he 
gives  his  readers  the  benefit.  He  may  be  faith- 
ful to  the  extent  of  revisiting,  ten  or  fifteen  years 
later,  the  scene  of  his  early  love ;  and  we  have 
a  book  like  An  Oriental  Phantom,  which  is  the 
attenuated  shadow  of  a  previous  success.* 
Once,  however,  the  naval  Don  Juan  finds  a 
heart  steeled  against  him,  and  he  must  leave 
with  the  disappointment  of  cherishing  no  re- 
morse. Mme.  Chrysanthemum  becomes  his  law- 
ful bride  for  a  season,  after  a  manner  they  have 
in  quaint  old  Japan,  and  also,  I  am  told,  some- 
where east  of  'Frisco  and  west  of  Cape  Cod; 
and  when  the  hour  of  separation  comes,  she 
gives  him  her  prettiest  smile,  she  drops  him  her 
deepest  curtsy — and  carefully  proceeds  to  count 
her  money.  Mme.  Chrysanthemum  is  no  Mme. 
Butterfly.  This  hurts  Loti  to  the  quick.  She 
was  not  playing  the  game — at  least,  not  his  game ; 
and  in  his  three  books  on  Japan,  we  can  feel  a 
current  of  antipathy.  Had  Mme.  Chrysanthe- 
mum realized  the  literary  greatness  of  her  Euro- 
pean husband,  and  how  his  words  of  praise  or 

*  AxyadS. 

IA7 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

blame  would  go  round  the  world,  she  might  have 
been  patriotic  enough  to  commit  hara-kiri,  not 
for  Loti's  sake,  but  for  the  good  name  of  the 
Island  Empire.  There  is  no  kind  of  literature 
that  is  quite  so  sickening  as  love  stories  told  in 
the  first  person  by  the  surviving  hero.  Lamar- 
tine  was  guilty  of  such  lack  of  tact  in  Graziella, 
and  we  find  it  hard  to  forgive  him.  It  cannot 
be  denied  that  two  or  three  of  Loti's  master- 
pieces have  that  unpleasant  element  in  them. 
Yet  it  must  be  said  that  the  objection  appears 
in  all  its  strength  only  when  we  give  a  heartless, 
colourless  summary  of  the  theme.  When  we 
read  the  text  itself,  we  do  not  criticize.  The 
books  are  rambling,  without  definite  plot,  a 
medley  of  pictures  of  exotic  life,  descriptions  of 
nature,  love  scenes,  lyrical  notes:  but  they  are 
so  young,  so  spontaneous,  so  artless,  so  deeply 
tender  withal,  that  we  forget  and  forgive  all 
literary  and  moral  blemishes:  we  no  longer  see 
the  dunghill  of  selfishness  in  which  those  mystic 
flowers  are  rooted. 

Moreover,  it  would  be  singularly  unjust  to 
consider  these  exotic  idylls  as  giving  the  full 
measure  of  Loti's  genius.  Quite  as  unique  in 
contemporary  literature,  quite  as  typical  of  his 

148 


PIERRE  LOTI 


art,  are  his  novels  of  the  sailor's  life :  Mon  Frkre 
Yves  {My  Brother  Yves,  1883),  PScheur  d'ls- 
lande  {The  Iceland  Fisherman,  1SS6),  Matelot  {A 
Common  Sailor,  1893).  The  first  is  the  plain, 
artless  story  of  a  Breton  sailor,  Yves,  the 
gentlest  of  men,  the  most  obedient  of  the  whole 
crew,  as  well  as  one  of  the  bravest  and  most 
resourceful,  as  long  as  he  is  sober.  But  he  has 
sudden  outbreaks  of  wild  indiscipline,  followed 
by  periods  of  sullen  despair,  and,  wherever  he 
lands,  he  falls  an  easy  prey  to  the  lure  of  the 
longshore  saloon.  Loti  became  attached  to  the 
man,  and  saved  him  from  many  a  bad  scrape. 
He  humanized,  as  much  as  in  him  lay,  the  rigid 
discipline  of  the  navy.  Without  any  loss  of 
dignity  and  authority,  he  realized  with  Yves 
that  ideal  relationship  which  ought  to  prevail 
between  servants  of  the  same  cause  and  of  the 
same  flag,  and  which  is  expressed  by  the  word 
"  brotherhood."  Yves's  parents  entreat  him  to 
aid  and  protect  their  boy,  chiefly  against  him- 
self; and  he  promises  to  be  a  "  brother  "  to  him. 
There  is  no  plot  in  the  book :  when  we  read  such 
a  perfectly  simple  and  convincing  story,  the 
very  idea  of  a  plot  seems  artificial  and  incon- 
gruous.    We  see  Yves  and  his  comrades  on  the 

149 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

seven  seas,  in  the  daily  routine  of  their  rough  and 
healthy  life,  in  their  hours  of  peril,  in  their  hours 
of  leisure — big  children  all,  coarse  and  innocent, 
whiling  time  away  with  their  pets  and  their 
songs,  gazing  at  sea  or  sky,  their  hearts  full  of 
vague  homesickness,  their  primitive  souls  full  of 
inarticulate  dreams.  We  see  them  on  shore, 
wasting  in  one  riotous  night  the  savings  of 
several  months'  hard  toil.  We  see  Yves  and 
his  "  brother  "  in  Brittany,  that  strangely  capti- 
vating land,  where  types,  costumes,  faith  and 
language  have  hardly  changed  for  centuries. 
We  see  the  humble,  chaste  courtship  of  Yves, 
his  brief  period  of  happiness,  in  his  little  house 
of  rough  granite,  with  the  double-decked  bed  of 
carved  oak  that  closes  like  a  wardrobe.  We  see 
— for  Loti  is  not  unduly  optimistic,  and  is  not 
afraid  of  sombre  scenes  which  equal  in  energy 
the  strongest  in  Zola — we  see  Brest,  the  great 
arsenal,  with  its  sordid  temptations,  its  squalor, 
its  vice.  And  although  we  leave  Brother  Yves 
happy  with  his  young  family,  a  poignant  melan- 
choly tinges  the  closing  scenes:  we  feel  that  the 
demon  is  not  yet  exorcized,  that  Yves's  modest 
comfort  and  peace  are  fragile,  as  fragile  as  his 
resolutions.  There  are  few  indictments  of  alco- 
150 


PIERRE  LOTI 


holism  stronger  than  this  plain  record,  so  con- 
vincing is  its  simplicity.  And  the  readers  who 
may  have  been  disgusted  with  the  juvenile  love 
stories  of  Loti  will  find  in  My  Brother  Yves  a 
man's  man,  whom  they  can  unreservedly  admire. 

The  Iceland  Fisherman  is  written  in  the  same 
vein.  It  is  also  a  tale  of  the  seafaring  popula- 
tion of  Brittany.  It  is  so  full  of  intimate  know- 
ledge and  profound  sympathy  that  the  author 
has  often  been  thought  to  be  a  Breton.  Is  he 
not  the  younger  brother  of  the  great  Breton 
Chateaubriand  ?  Yet  he  never  lived  in  Brittany 
until  he  was  thirty  years  old ;  and  whilst  the  old 
Celtic  province  is  the  bulwark  of  Catholicism, 
Loti  is  a  Huguenot  who  has  become  an  agnostic. 
By  some  phenomenon  which  only  reincarnation 
would  seem  to  explain,  Loti  had  the  impression 
of  returning  home,  when  he  went  to  Brittany. 
But  that  same  sentiment  of  home-coming  also 
fills  his  heart  wherever  Islam  extends  its  sombre 
peace.     A  poet's  soul  is  richer  than  the  world. 

The  Iceland  Fisherman  is  one  of  the  most 
popular  books  in  modern  fiction.  Of  the  French 
edition,  300,000  copies  were  sold,  and  there  is 
hardly  any  language  into  which  it  has  not  been 
translated.     It  is  a  book  which  appeals  to  all 

151 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

classes  of  readers :  perfectly  simple  in  plot,  inci- 
dent, sentiment  and  style,  it  is  full  of  the  subtlest 
charm.     The  subject  is  the  sweet  and  tragic  idyll 
between  Yann  Gaos  and  Gaud  Mevel.     Yann 
loves  Gaud.    But  timid  and  proud,  self-willed  and 
capricious,  he  cannot  be  brought  to  confess  his 
love,  because  everybody   wants  him  to  marry 
Gaud,  and  because  she  is  too  fine,   too  much 
of  a  "  demoiselle,"  for  a  plain  fisherman.     It  is 
not   until  misfortune  befalls  her  that   the  big 
stubborn  child  comes  round  at  last.     They  are 
married,   and  the  man  who    has  sung  Azyade 
and  Rarahu  finds  accents  of  infinite  tenderness 
and  purity  to  describe  the  happiness  of  Gaud 
and  Yann.     Their   idyll  lasts   six   days.     Yann 
goes  back  to  his  calling.     Gaud  waits  for  him 
for  many  months,  with  slowly  sinking  heart. 
All  the  boats  return  from  Iceland,  even  one  that 
was  long  overdue.     But  Yann  never  comes  back. 

All  Brittany  lies  before  our  eyes,  with  its 
rugged  coast  bathed  in  mist,  and  ever  assailed 
by  the  furious  waves  of  the  Atlantic;  with  its 
granite  rocks  strewn  with  heather,  gorse,  and 
broom;  with  its  thatched  huts  clustering  round 
a  tall  spire;  with  the  quaint  garb  of  its  peasant 
folk,  and  their  deep,  melancholy,  slow-moving 

152 


PIERRE  LOTI 


soul.  And  we  catch  glimpses  of  the  strange 
polar  seas,  phantasmal  under  the  midnight  sun. 
We  have  moments  of  merry-making  among  the 
simple-hearted  fishermen.  We  have  scenes  of 
deep  mourning,  as  when  poor  Grandmother 
Moan  is  notified,  with  heartless  formality,  that 
her  little  Sylvestre  has  died  in  the  Chinese  Sea. 
Gaud,  Yann,  and  their  cortipanions  are  simple 
enough,  and  free  from  the  subtleties  and  per- 
versities of  Bourget's  heroes:  yet  they  live,  more 
convincingly  than  the  morbid  creations  of  pro- 
fessional psychologists.  But  the  chief  character 
in  the  drama,  the  Chorus,  one  and  multitudinous, 
which  gives  it  its  tone  of  tragic  mystery,  is  the 
sea,  the  boundless,  the  fascinating,  the  devouring. 
Like  a  leit-motiv  in  a  haunting,  heartrending, 
minor  key,  recur  the  half-jesting,  half-prophetic 
allusions  of  Yann  to  his  engagement  with  the 
sea.  And  the  monstrous  bride  claims  him  at 
last. 

All  the  books  of  Loti  are  in  a  sense  leaves  from 
his  diary ;  and  his  personality  is  too  self-centred 
to  change  in  a  trice.  Yet  we  should  not  take 
too  literally  his  proud  confession  of  monotony. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  two  books  by  the  same 
writer  could  hardly  be  more  different  in  setting 

153 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

and  in  spirit  than  the  Iceland  Fisherman  and 
his  next  novel,  Mme.  Chrysanthemum,  which 
appeared  in  1888.  On  the  one  hand,  Brittany, 
primitive  and  sombre;  on  the  other,  refined  and 
smiHng  Japan ;  in  the  West,  an  idyll  of  unequalled 
purity  and  depth ;  in  the  East,  the  commonplace 
adventure  of  a  European  officer  in  a  treaty  port ; 
in  the  first  book,  a  spirit  of  sympathy,  an  atmo- 
sphere of  tragic  mystery,  the  rugged  grandeur  of 
Brittany  and  Iceland,  the  unfathomable  waves 
of  the  sea  and  of  love;  in  Mme.  Chrysanthemum, 
a  confession  of  misunderstanding,  a  spirit  of 
hostility  and  contempt  veiled  under  the  forms 
of  humorous  urbanity.  The  Japan  he  depicts 
is  pretty,  on  a  small  scale  and  in  a  petty  manner; 
exquisite,  but  heartless;  refined,  but  trifling; 
polite,  but  with  strange  reserves  of  obscenity, 
treachery,  and  hatred.  This  hostility  of  Loti 
against  Japan  has  a  double  root :  first,  as  we 
said  before,  Mme.  Chrysanthemum  did  not 
commit  hara-kiri,  and  thus  deprived  the  vast 
circles  of  Loti's  readers  of  a  most  affecting  scene. 
Then  Loti  hates  our  modern  civilization;  he 
loves  those  countries  which  have  remained  un- 
tainted by  its  blight,  and  which,  like  Islam, 
spurn  it.     Japan, on  the  contrary,  was  then  the 

154 


PIERRE  LOTI 


latest  and  most  enthusiastic  convert  to  Western 
progress — a  traitor  to  the  cause  which  Loti  holds 
sacred.  When,  in  his  book  Japan  in  Autumn, 
he  describes  the  temples  of  old  Japan,  lost  in 
dense  forests,  he  resumes  his  usual  tone  of  sym- 
pathy. Mme.  Chrysanthemum,  as  a  novel,  is  as 
trifling  as  gossamer.  It  can  hardly  be  called  a 
great  book ;  but  like  the  paintings  of  the  Japanese 
themselves,  it  has  wonderful  atmosphere.  It 
came  at  the  right  time  too — when  there  was  in 
Paris  a  recrudescence  of  the  Japanese  craze  in- 
augurated by  the  Goncourt  brothers.  It  remains 
one  of  the  most  popular  among  the  works  of 
Loti.  In  1905  he  published  a  sequel  to  it.  The 
Third  Youth  of  Mme.  Plum,  which  is  even  less 
of  a  novel,  and  much  more  of  a  satire.  His 
aversion  has  increased  with  the  modernization  of 
Japan,  and  the  Russo-Japanese  conflict,  pre- 
dicted by  the  author  five  years  before,  gave  a 
tragic  background  to  his  mincing  and  smirking 
puppets. 


155 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


§  3.  LoTi's  Novels:  After  1892. 

A    Sailor — Ramuntcho — The     Disenchanted — Miscellaneous 
works. 

In  1892,  at  the  comparatively  early  age  of 
forty- two,  Pierre  Loti  became  immortal,  which, 
being  interpreted,  means  that  he  was  elected  to 
the  French  Academy.  His  next  novel,  A 
Common  Sailor,  tells  us  the  simple  story  of  a 
sailor  boy  and  his  fond  mother,  with  the  usual 
tragic  ending.  The  boy,  a  Southerner,  hand- 
some, loving,  with  a  poet's  soul,  is  incurably 
addicted  to  dreaming,  and  has  not  the  strength 
of  will  to  discipline  his  intellect.  He  fails  in  his 
examination  for  the  Naval  Academy,  and  enlists 
as  a  common  sailor;  he  feels  that  his  superficial 
learning  is  drifting  farther  and  farther  away  from 
him.  Meanwhile,  his  mother  has  to  give  up  her 
last  pretensions  to  middle-class  respectability, 
and  becomes  an  ordinary  working  woman.  He 
is  stricken  with  fever  in  Indo-China,  and  dies  on 
his  way  home.  His  mother's  despair,  and  the 
comfort  she  finds  in  a  religion  from  which  the 
author  himself  is  estranged,  are  among  the  most 
pathetic  passages  in  modern  literature.  A 
Common  Sailor  has  been  overshadowed  by  the 

156 


PIERRE  LOTI 


more  unique  Iceland  Fisherman :  but  few  novels 
attain  the  same  power,  with  such  simple  means. 
In  Ramuntcho,  we  are  again  in  France,  but  in 
one  of  its  outlying  and  most  un- French  provinces, 
the  Basque  country — a  strange  little  nation, 
astride  on  the  Pyrenees,  speaking  a  primitive 
language  unrelated  with  any  other.  The  book, 
which  appeared  in  1896,  was  the  outcome  of  a 
long  period  of  service  on  the  Bidassoa,  a  small 
river  which  marks  the  boundary  between  France 
and  Spain.  It  is  perhaps  Loti's  nearest  approach 
to  a  novel  of  the  conventional  type.  The  plot 
is  simple,  but  definite  and  continuous.  The 
author's  personality  never  obtrudes  itself. 
Ramuntcho,  the  son  of  a  Basque  woman  and 
of  a  Parisian  father,  and  a  very  young  girl, 
Gracieuse,  love  each  other — as  pure  and  pretty 
an  idyll  as  can  be  found  anywhere,  simple  and 
sweet  without  becoming  sentimental.  But 
Gracieuse 's  mother,  a  proud  and  domineering 
woman,  hates  Ramuntcho 's  mother,  and  opposes 
the  marriage.  The  lovers  think  of  emigrating 
to  South  America,  the  Eldorado  of  the  Basques. 
But  too  great  is  their  love  for  their  people  and 
their  native  country.  Ramuntcho  has  to  serve 
his  time  in  the  French  Army :  when  he  returns, 

157 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

he  finds  Gracieuse  a  nun.  Her  brother  offers  to 
help  him  carry  her  away:  but  a  visit  to  the 
convent  reveals  the  impracticability  of  the 
scheme :  Gracieuse  belongs  to  God  and  has  found 
peace.  Their  last  conversation  is  friendly,  even 
confidential,  outwardly  commonplace,  with 
hidden  depths  of  sorrow.  Ramuntcho  leaves 
the  Basque  country  for  ever.  Here  again  the 
Huguenot,  the  agnostic,  the  epicure,  has  found 
convincing  accents  to  describe  the  mystery  of 
faith,  and  the  peace  that  passeth  all  understand- 
ing. No  priest  could  improve  on  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  humble  convent  in  which  Ramuntcho 
finds  his  former  fiancee.  Although  Loti,  in  this 
as  in  all  his  other  books,  is  a  master  of  descrip- 
tion, the  characters  and  the  story  are  fully  as 
important  as  the  picturesque  setting.  We  have 
long  chapters  devoted  to  the  two  principal 
forms  of  activity  of  the  most  robust  and  agile 
among  that  strong  and  nimble  race:  smug- 
gling  and    the    game    of    pelota.*      But    these 

*  The  Basque  pelota  is  played  against  a  wail  or  fronton, 
by  means  of  a  long  scoop  fastened  to  the  wrist;  it  seems  to 
mean  as  much  to  the  people  in  France,  Spain,  and  South 
America,  as  football  or  baseball  to  our  average  under- 
graduate. Even  in  Paris,  the  game  was  popular,  at  least 
for  a  season. 

158 


PIERRE  LOTI 


episodes    are    cunningly    interwoven    with    the 
story. 

Loti's  last  novel,  The  Disenchanted  (1908)  is 
the  only  one  of  his  works  of  fiction  that  is  meant 
to  serve  a  cause:  it  is  a  plea  in  favour  of  the 
educated  women  of  modern  Turkey.  The  title 
is  ambiguous  on  purpose.  The  "  Disenchanted  " 
are  those  fairy  princesses  of  the  East,  who 
for  centuries  have  slept  their  happy  sleep, 
and  have  now  been  wakened  by  the  wand  of 
Western  civilization.  But,  waking,  they  find 
their  free  souls  still  trammelled  by  the  prejudices 
of  immutable  Islam.  More  cultured  than  their 
brothers,  good  linguists,  musical,  great  readers 
during  their  innumerable  hours  of  enforced  idle- 
ness, they  are  debarred  from  any  intelligent 
activity  in  the  outside  world,  and  are  still,  in  the 
eyes  of  the  law,  but  a  higher  order  of  chattel. 
So  modern  life,  thus  incomplete,  has  proved  a 
disenchantment  indeed;  and  if  they  cannot 
receive  the  full  freedom  of  their  Western  sisters, 
they  would  rather  go  back  to  the  slumberous 
peace  of  the  old  harem.  Now,  it  is  easy  to  con- 
ceive how  any  other  first-class  writer — Bourget, 
for  instance — with  such  a  thesis  to  prove,  would 
have  gone  about ;  how  he  would  have  marshalled 

^S9 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

his  arguments  in  syllogistic  array,  and  contrived 
an  affabulation  that  would  have  made  his  con- 
clusion dramatic  and  inevitable.  Not  so  Loti. 
We  find  in  The  Disenchanted  the  triumph  of  his 
masterly  artlessness.  Never  for  a  moment  does 
the  book  give  the  irksome  impression  of  being 
a  treatise  in  the  garb  of  fiction;  it  is  human, 
that  is  all.  It  gives  us  days  and  years  from  lives 
essentially  foreign,  and  yet  so  essentially  the 
same  as  ours  !  The  same  yearning,  the  same 
revolt,  although  the  obstacles  be  different. 
Three  Turkish  ladies  write  to  Andr^  Lhery — 
evidently  Loti  himself — asking  him  to  plead 
their  cause.  He  meets  them  repeatedly,  not 
without  some  personal  risk,  and  never  for  any 
purpose  but  to  learn  from  them,  and  to  assure 
them  of  his  sympathy.  All  three,  after  sad 
experiences  in  their  married  lives,  die  young. 
Through  the  book  runs  an  almost  intangible 
thread  of  love.  Andre  Lhery,  who  is  no  longer 
young,  has  too  much  respect  for  love,  for  his  own 
past,  for  himself,  to  become  that  most  despicable 
of  all  beings,  a  grey-haired  Lothario.  His  heart 
and  his  imagination  may  have  remained  ardent : 
but  he  checks  whatever  sentimental  interest  he 
might  be  tempted  to  take  in  his  Turkish  friends : 
i6o 


PIERRE  LOTI 


he  will  be  naught  but  their  adviser  and  spokes- 
man. Djenane,  the  chief  of  the  three,  will  not 
allow  her  desperate  effort  on  behalf  of  her  sex 
to  degenerate  into  an  international  flirtation. 
It  is  but  at  the  hour  of  death,  with  Andre  two 
thousand  miles  away,  that  she  confesses  her  love. 
It  is  said  that  in  the  apse  of  Saint  Sophia  the 
image  of  the  Wisdom  of  God,  covered  with 
repeated  coats  of  Mohammedan  whitewash,  still 
stares  at  the  people  with  her  faint,  haunting, 
inextinguishable  eyes:  so  love  appears  in  this 
book,  sad  unto  death  but  deathless,  all  the  more 
potent  through  its  triple  veil.  The  background 
of  the  story  is  Constantinople,  and  particularly 
Stamboul,  the  purely  Turkish  part  of  that  great 
cosmopolitan  agglomeration,  with  which  AzyadS 
had  made  us  familiar ;  and  never,  since  the  magic 
evocation  of  medieval  Paris  in  Hugo's  Notre- 
Dame,  had  any  city  stood  before  our  eyes  with 
such  intensity  of  life. 

We  have  completed  the  review  of  the  ten  or 
twelve  volumes  which  can  be  called  novels  or 
romances.  They  by  no  means  exhaust  the 
literary  production  of  Pierre  Loti.  He  gave 
us  a  number  of  purely  descriptive  books — 
Morocco,  Towards  Ispahan,  The  Last  Days  of 
M  i6i 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

Pekin,  The  Death  of  Philce — all  expressing  his 
love  for  ancient  forms  of  civilization,  his  loath- 
ing of  the  rising  tide  of  Western  commercialism. 
Other  books  may  be  termed  **  A  Pilgrim's  Diary  " : 
thus  the  triptych  on  the  Holy  Land :  The  Desert, 
Galilee,  Jerusalem ;  thus  India  {without  the 
English)  ;  thus  A  Pilgrimage  to  Angkor.  The 
wandering,  homesick  soul  goes  in  quest  of  faith 
to  those  places  which  have  been  hallowed  by  the 
sacred  traditions  of  centuries:  everywhere  he  is 
moved,  and  everywhere  disappointed.  No  illu- 
mination comes  to  him  from  the  empty  tombs. 
Then  he  published  collections  of  sketches,  sou- 
venirs and  essays,  minor  works  perhaps,  but 
delightfully  varied  and  intimate,  and  whose  very 
titles  are  full  of  romantic  charm:  The  Book  of 
Pity  and  Death,  Gleams  on  the  Sombre  Road, 
Faces  and  Things  that  were  Passing,  The  Castle 
of  the  Sleeping  Beauty.  He  has  even  turned  his 
hand  to  the  drama,  the  very  last  craft  in  which 
a  lyric  poet  and  a  word-painter  would  be  expected 
to  excel;  he  has  given  us  stage  versions  of 
Rarahu  and  Ramuntcho,  a  translation  of  King 
Lear,  an  original  play  about  his  own  ancestors 
at  the  time  of  the  Revocation  of  the  Edict  of 
Nantes  {Judith  Renaudin),  and  even  a  Chinese 
162 


PIERRE  LOTI 


tragedy,  The  Daughter  of  Heaven.  He  has  left 
the  poet's  ivory  tower  in  order  to  relieve  dis- 
tress, and  his  appeals  on  behalf  of  Breton  fisher- 
men have  brought  a  generous  response.  Per- 
haps it  is  in  his  pro-Turkish  campaigns  that  we 
see  him  at  his  best.  He  took  the  defence,  alone 
in  the  French  Press,  of  his  Turkish  friends,  so 
cynically  attacked  by  Austria,  Italy,  and  their 
Balkan  neighbours  at  the  very  moment  when 
they  were  attempting  to  reform  their  crumbling 
empire.  Loti  was  undoubtedly  a  partisan,  and 
his  documents  are  scarcely  more  reliable  than 
those  of  his  opponents.  But,  even  if  mistaken, 
his  loyalty  in  the  hour  of  need  was  chivalrous, 
and  his  denunciation  of  all  wars  of  aggression 
and  conquest  will  find  an  echo  in  the  hearts  of 
those  who  love  humanity.  His  book  The 
Death-Throes  of  Turkey  is  but  a  journalistic 
medley,  meant  to  serve  temporary  ends,  but  it 
contains  pages  which  ought  to  live.  At  the 
beginning  of  the  Great  War,  he  volunteered  as 
a  reserve  officer,  and  resumed  his  former  rank  in 
the  French  Navy.  He  was  given  shore  duties, 
not  so  exacting  that  they  would  interfere  with 
his  contributions   to  the   Press;   the  numerous 

163 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

articles  that  have  been  so  widely  circulated  in 
the  English  and  American  papers  are  evidences 
of  undiminished  powers. 

§  4.  The  Art  and  Thought  of  Pierre  Loti. 

A  lyrical  painter — "  Anguish ' '  the  key-note — Nature  and  lo\  e 
as  refuge — "  The  Books  of  Pity  and  Death" — "  Supreme 
Pity." 

We  may  now  attempt  to  characterize  the 
different  elements  of  his  art  and  of  his  thought , 
so  elusive  under  their  apparent  simplicity.  The 
casual  reader  thinks  of  Loti,  first  of  all,  as  a 
descriptive  writer,  a 'painter  in  words.  He  be- 
longs to  the  line  of  those  men  for  whom,  in 
Gautier's  terms,  "the  outer  world  exists": 
Jean-Jacques  Rousseau,  Bernardin  de  Saint- 
Pierre,  Chateaubriand,  Victor  Hugo,  Th^ophile 
Gautier.  He  has  seen  more  varied  landscapes 
and  seascapes  than  any  of  them;  he  is  more 
reliable  than  Chateaubriand,  who  could  not  draw 
the  line  between  fact  and  fiction,  and  actually 
saw,  with  those  romantic  eyes  of  his,  "  monkeys 
hanging  by  their  tails  over  the  cataract  of 
Niagara,  fishing  up,  as  they  dashed  by,  the 
shattered  corpses  of  elks  and  bears."  But  it 
would  be  a  mistake  to  bracket  Loti  with  a  mere 

164 


PIERRE  LOTI 


word-painter  like  Gautier.  Gautier  was  a 
pagan,  with  hardly  any  sentiment  in  his  heart, 
and  very  few  ideas  in  his  head.  Marvellously 
accurate,  he  gave  us  splendid  inventories,  so 
complete  that,  with  a  certain  amount  of  sym- 
pathetic insight,  we  can  imagine  the  soul  of  the 
places  he  describes.  With  Loti,  the  soul  is  felt 
first:  then  the  material  details  take  unobtru- 
sively their  place  in  the  total  picture.  We  see 
the  forest  before  the  trees ;  we  feel  its  gloom  and 
peacefulness  before  we  see  its  mingled  light  and 
shade.  A  logician  like  Taine,  by  sheer  strength 
of  will,  could  give  us  descriptions  that  rival 
Gautier's  in  brilliancy.  But  he  could  not,  with 
his  intellectual  machine,  powerful  and  delicate 
though  it  be,  render  spiritual  atmosphere  with 
Loti's  easy  mastery.  A  selection  from  the 
works  of  Loti  would  indeed  be  an  incomparable 
album :  but  it  would  be  an  album  of  songs  rather 
than  of  photographs.  His  descriptions  are 
lyrical ;  they  are  the  notation  of  a  state  of  mind 
blending  with  or  reacting  against  certain  physi- 
cal surroundings. 

That  state  of  mind  is  constant  with  Loti,  in 
spite  of  fleeting  moods:  it  is  the  mixture  of 
curiosity,  pity,  and  dread  which  is  denoted  by  his 

i6s 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

favourite  word,  "  anguish."  Born  with  a  pil- 
grim soul,  estranged  from  the  faith  which  alone 
gives  peace,  he  attempts  to  satisfy  with  finite 
pleasures  his  infinite  longings,  and  knows  before- 
hand that  all  is  vanity.  He  has  roamed  through 
the  world,  but  its  beauty  is  a  vain  show,  the 
gorgeous  raiment  of  his  own  melancholy.  An- 
guish everywhere  1  In  strange  civilizations  he 
finds  a  torturing  delight,  for  they  are  dying,  and 
he  sees  the  tide  of  European  vulgarity  already 
assailing  and  submerging  them  all.  The  pageant 
of  nature  and  civilization  cannot  make  him 
forget  his  dread — the  futility  of  life,  the  flight 
of  time,  the  uncharted  darkness  beyond.  He 
tries  love  as  a  supreme  opiate :  there  again  he 
fails.  The  twin  curses  of  man's  destiny  are 
still  upon  him:  isolation  and  transitoriness.  No 
one  can  reach  beyond  the  prison  bars  of  his  own 
personality,  and  every  idyll  must  end  when  the 
ship's  bell  is  rung  and  the  eternal  wanderer  puts 
again  to  sea. 

It  may  be  argued  that  if  Loti  had  indeed  been 
athirst  for  deep  and  permanent  soul-communion, 
he  might  have  selected  more  eligible  mates  than 
Azyad^,  Rarahu,  or  Chrysanthemum.  His  love 
affairs  are  too  superficial  and  too  exceptional  to 

1 66 


PIERRE  LOTI 


be  of  universal  significance :  it  is  not  every  man's 
privilege  to  be  the  Romeo  of  such  an  ethno- 
graphic museum  as  we  find  in  Loti's  books. 
True  enough.  Yet  those  strange  exotic  idylls 
move  us  deeply ;  there  is  nothing  frivolous  about 
them :  they  are  profoundly  human.  In  them,  all 
conventionalities,  including  the  most  sacred  of 
all,  intellectual  culture  and  traditional  morality, 
have  to  be  left  in  abeyance:  the  lovers  have 
not  one  idea  in  common  and  can  barely  stammer 
the  simplest  words  of  each  other's  language. 
But  their  love  is  not  bestial,  not  even  purely 
sensual:  compared  with  the  subtle  perversities 
of  France  and  Bourget,  it  is  deep  and  chaste. 
It  is  rooted  in  needs  and  passions  which  go  be- 
yond culture  and  ethics :  it  is  primitive,  essential. 
Loti,  himself  the  product  of  an  old  civilization, 
can  throw  off  the  burden  of  centuries,  and 
return  for  a  while  to  the  days  when  this  earth 
was  young.  He  gives  us  at  times  a  strange  im- 
pression, as  though  the  painted  world  which  has 
become  so  real  to  us  were  rolled  up  like  a  scroll, 
revealing  Eden. 

Then,  although  the  obstacles  between  Loti 
and  his  friends  are  of  an  exceptional  nature, 
they  are  but  the  rare,  poetic  symbols  of  obstacles 

167 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

found  every  day  in  our  commonplace  lives. 
Rarahu,  Azyade,  cannot  speak  his  language: 
but  were  there  ever,  even  in  Paradise,  two 
lovers  who  fully  understood  each  other  ?  Have 
not  the  most  hackneyed  words  a  personal  con- 
notation which  is  incommunicable  ?  I  put  my 
thoughts  into  words  that  betray  them,  and 
which,  in  your  turn,  you  are  bound  to  misunder- 
stand. Loti  wonders  what  thoughts  may  be 
going  on  under  the  smooth  brow  of  his  Tahitian, 
or  of  his  Turkish,  brides :  are  there  not  moments 
when  our  dearest  friend  is  a  sphinx  ?  And  the 
ship  which  stays  but  a  season,  the  remorseless 
ship  which  leaves  far  behind  the  enchanted 
island  wherein  we  loved — has  not  that  ship 
called  us  away  from  home,  mother,  and  former 
friends,  will  it  not  carry  us  at  last  beyond  the 
bourne  of  time  and  space  ?  Like  the  Iceland 
Fishermen,  are  we  not  encompassed  by  a  treach- 
erous devouring  sea,  which  snatches  from  us 
now  this  friend,  now  that  other,  until  it  drags  us 
at  last  into  its  unknown  depths  ? 

All  the  works  of  Loti  could  be  called  The  Book 
of  Pity  and  Death.  And  as  age  creeps  on,  as  the 
delusion  of  love  vanishes,  his  anguish  becomes 
more  desperate,  and  his  pity  more  tender.     Like 

i68 


PIERRE  LOTI 


Alfred  de  Vigny,  he  loves  "  that  which  passes 
and  is  never  seen  a  second  time."  "  To  end," 
he  cries,  "  to  end,  when  one  feels  that  nothing 
within  you  has  changed,  that  the  same  impulse 
would  still  urge  you  on  towards  adventure,  to- 
wards the  unknown,  if  there  were  any  left  in 
this  world  !  To  have  been  a  child  before  whom 
the  world  was  to  unfold  itself — to  have  been  one 
who  was  to  live — and  to  be  one  that  has  lived  !' 

The  traveller  is  weary,  and  his  quest  has  been 
vain.  Vain  ?  Has  he  not  risen  from  pleasure 
to  pity,  and  from  that  pity  which  is  but  a  form 
of  selfishness  to  the  most  tender  sense  of  human 
brotherhood  ?  Has  he  fallen  so  far  short  of  his 
reward  ?  Pascal  heard  Jesus  say  to  him :  "  Thou 
wouldst  not  thus  search  for  Me,  if  thou  hadst 
not  already  found  Me  in  thy  heart."  Loti  has 
not  found  the  God  of  theologians,  but  he  has 
caught  a  distant  vision  of  the  God  of  Love. 

"  And  yet,"  he  says  in  the  closing  pages  of  his 
Pilgrimage  to  Angkor,  "  from  this  life  of  mine,  so 
brief,  and  scattered  over  the  whole  earth,  I  shall 
have  gained  something,  a  lesson  which  is  not 
sufficient  yet,  but  which  heralds  the  dawn  of 
serenity.  ...  So  many  places  of  frantic  adoration 
have  I  come    across  on  my  way,  each    corre- 

169 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

spending  to  some  particular  form  of  human 
anguish — so  many  pagodas,  mosques,  and  cathe- 
drals, whence  the  same  prayer  rises  from  the 
depths  of  the  most  different  souls  I  .  .  .  Such 
a  mass  of  supplications,  such  burning  tears, 
imply  the  almost  universal  confidence  that  God 
can  be  naught  but  the  God  of  pity.  As  pity  for 
one  another,  the  fraternal  pity  preached  by 
Buddha  and  Jesus,  won  its  way  into  our  souls, 
repressing  our  natural  ferocity,  the  notion  was 
strengthened  within  us  that  there  must  be  some- 
where a  Supreme  Pity  to  hear  our  cries,  and  our 
sanctuaries  became  more  and  more  places  for 
supplications  and  tears.  .  .  .  This  Sovereign 
Pity,  I  incline  more  and  more  to  believe  in  it, 
to  stretch  my  arms  towards  it,  because  I  have 
suffered  too  much,  under  all  skies,  in  the  midst 
of  delights  and  in  the  midst  of  horror,  because 
I  have  seen  too  much  suffering,  too  many  tears, 
heard  too  many  prayers.  .  .  .  That  Supreme 
Pity  towards  whom  we  stretch  our  hands  in  our 
despair,  it  must  exist,  whatever  name  it  bears; 
it  must  be  there,  able  to  hear,  at  the  moment  of 
the  separation  of  death,  our  cry  of  infinite  dis- 
tress— else  Creation,  which  can  no  longer  rea- 
sonably be  excused  on  the  plea  of  unconscious- 
170 


PIERRE  LOTI 


ness,  would  be  a  deed  of  inadmissible  cruelty, 
because  it  would  be  too  odious  and  too  cowardly. 
"  And  from  all  my  numberless  pilgrimages, 
futile  or  grave,  this  weak,  old-fashioned  argu- 
ment is  after  all  the  one  thing  worth  while  that 
I  have  brought  back."     Amen. 


171 


CHAPTER  V 
PAUL   BOURGET 


CHAPTER  V. 
PAUL  BOURGET. 

"  Well-written  works  alone,"  said  old  Buffon, 
"  will  be  handed  down  to  posterity."  If  any  of 
the  books  of  Paul  Bourget  and  Maurice  Barrfes 
are  still  read  half  a  century  after  their  author's 
death,  it  will  be  on  the  strength  of  their  purely 
literary  merits.  These  we  have  no  desire  to 
belittle:  Paul  Bourget  and  Maurice  Barr^s  are 
both  consummate  artists .  Barr^s  does  not  fall  far 
short  of  Pierre  Loti  himself  as  a  master  of  lyrical 
description,  and  his  style,  less  smooth  and  less 
perfect  than  that  of  Anatole  France,  has  at 
times  a  more  subtle  music,  and  more  sudden 
power.  Paul  Bourget  conquered  a  distinguished 
rank  among  minor  poets  before  he  made  his 
mark  in  prose;  he  too  can  be  a  word-painter  of 
no  little  penetration  and  charm;  and  his  prose, 
often  pedantic,  has  classical  qualities  of  cohe- 
rence and  vigour.  Of  all  living  writers  of  fiction, 
he  is  probably  the  most  skilful  technician;  the 

175 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

structure  of  his  best  novels  is  wellnigh  faultless ; 
and  his  worst  enemies  recognize  that  his  psycho- 
logy, albeit  ponderous,  obtrusive,  and  over- 
systematic,  is  careful,  subtle,  often  convincing, 
not  seldom  profound.  Yet  of  both  these  writers 
we  may  affirm  that  the  prestige,  the  influence 
they  now  enjoy  in  certain  circles  are  quite  out 
of  proportion  with  their  literary  deserts.  Both 
claim  to  be  leaders  of  thought — almost  party 
leaders.  They  are  the  champions  of  the  doc- 
trine of  tradition.  In  Barr^s,  an  active  politi- 
cian, that  doctrine  assumes  the  form  of  "  Na- 
tionalism." Bourget,  a  psychologist  who  became 
a  moralist,  is  the  defender  of  the  Catholic  point 
of  view:  the  spicy  author  of  Physiologie  de 
V Amour  Moderne  is  now  the  last  of  the  Fathers, 
a  Cardinal  in  green.*  It  is  with  the  thesis  of 
these  men,  rather  than  with  their  fiction,  that 
we  are  concerned.    Their  evolution  is  a  chapter 

*  Cardinals  in  green:  the  uniform  of  French  Academi- 
cians is  heavily  embroidered  with  green  palms.  The  ex- 
pression was  coined  at  the  time  of  the  separation  of  Church 
and  State;  it  was  then  used  exclusively  to  denote  those 
CathoUc  members  of  the  Academy  who  respectfully  advised 
the  Pope  to  accept  a  modus  vivendi  with  the  French  Govern- 
ment. 

176 


PAUL  BOURGET 


in  the  agelong  conflict  between  the  ideals  of 
the  Ancient  Regime  and  those  of  the  Revolution 
in  the  soul  of  contemporary  France. 


§  I.  Rationalism  and  Tradition. 

Rationalism  triumphant  before  the  Revolution ;  on  the  de- 
fensive thereafter — Taine's  influence  on  Bourget  and 
Barrds. 

From  the  seventeenth  century — at  least — to 
the  very  end  of  the  eighteenth,  Reason  was  the 
chief  ideal  of  the  French  mind.     Descartes  and 
Boileau   are   typical   rationalists   in   philosophy 
and  in  literature.     Under  Louis  XIV.,  that  ideal 
of    reason    seemed    to    blend    admirably    with 
authority  and  tradition:  all  three  combined  to 
uphold  things  as  they  were.     The  literature  of 
antiquity    was    worshipped:    not    blindly    and 
because  it  was  ancient,  but  as  the  embodiment 
of  reasonableness,  as  reason  itself  compared  with 
the  childishness  of  the  Middle  Ages  or  the  ex- 
travagance of  Italy  and  Spain.     The  Bourbon 
monarchy  was  accepted — strange  as  it  may  seem 
to  us — as  a  reasonable  ideal;  its  divine  origin, 
its  immemorial  tradition,  enhanced  its  prestige : 
yet  the  very  foundations  of  its  power  were  found 
N  177 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

in  its  comparative  efficiency,  its  national  char- 
acter, the  glory  and  splendour  it  gave  France; 
on  these  broad  and  seemingly  firm  foundations 
was  reared  the  logical  structure  of  absolutism. 
The  Catholic  faith  itself,  as  represented  by  Bos- 
suet,  was  reasonable :  free  from  the  sombre  fana- 
ticism of  Spain  or  Scotland,  free  from  the  laxity 
of  Italy,  free  from  the  asceticism  of  the  Jan- 
senists,  free  from  slavish  obedience  to  Rome, 
reconciled  through  Malebranche  with  the  rational- 
ism of  Descartes.  This  harmony  between  the 
aspirations  of  the  nation  and  the  traditional  ex- 
pression of  its  culture  gave  us  the  classical  period 
par  excellence:  an  age  of  intellectual  serenity, 
yet  richer  and  more  complex  than  modern  critics 
are  apt  to  allow.  But  that  equilibrium  could 
not  last.  It  was  threatened  long  before  the  end 
of  Louis  XIV.*  By  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  the  divorce  between  reason  and  tradi- 
tion had  become  radical.  The  Encyclopaedists 
denounce  "  superstitions,  abuses,  privileges." 
On  the  intellectual  battlefield,  their  victory  was 
so  complete  that  we  are  at  present  tempted  to 
smile  at  their  excessive  efforts:  there  were  no 

*  C/.,  in  literature,  the  "  quarrel  of  the  Ancient  and  the 
•.odern." 

178 


PAUL  BOURGET 


conservative  philosophers  of  their  own  size  to 
oppose  them.  The  Ancient  Regime  had  lost 
faith  in  itself  long  before  its  downfall.  The  King 
said :  "  After  us  the  Deluge  !"  And  the  nobility 
did  their  best  to  call  the  deluge  upon  their  own 
generation.  They  laughed  approval  at  the  most 
destructive  witticisms  of  Figaro.  It  seemed 
as  though  no  man  in  his  senses,  about  1789, 
would  dare  to  defend  mere  "  tradition  "  against 
"  reason." 

Then  the  deluge  came — a  deluge  of  blood. 
The  members  of  the  nobility  and  clergy  who 
survived  found  less  charm  in  "  reason."  But 
the  strongest  and  most  curious  effect  was  on  the 
Third  Estate  or  Bourgeoisie,  who  had  made  the 
Revolution.  The  bourgeois  were  not,  as  Siey^s 
would  have  us  believe,  the  whole  of  the  nation: 
they  were  a  privileged  order  like  the  other  two, 
whose  interests  were  bound  up  with  certain 
traditions,  above  all  with  that  of  hereditary 
property.  Hardly  had  they  achieved  their  own 
ends  and  dragged  down  the  upper  orders  to  their 
own  level,  when  the  tide  of  reaction  set  in. 
Death  was  decreed  against  whoever  should  pro- 
pose an  "  agrarian  law."*     By  1794,  the  demo- 

*  I.e.,2L  law  tending  to  the  redistribution  of  landed  property. 

179 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

cratic  revolution  was  checked ;  and  with  the 
advent  of  Bonaparte,  in  1799,  all  that  was  still 
available  of  the  Ancient  Regime  was  hastily- 
restored.  We  do  not  wish  to  imply  that  this 
change  of  front  on  the  part  of  the  bourgeoisie  was 
due  exclusively,  or  even  primarily,  to  selfishness 
and  fear:  it  had  nobler  motives,  humanitarian 
and  spiritual.  France  was  then  ready  for  those 
great  theorists  of  reaction  whom  their  dis- 
ciple a  generation  later,  Barbey  d'Aurevilly, 
aptly  termed  "the  prophets  of  the  past."  In- 
dependently of  each  other,  Chateaubriand, 
Lamennais  during  the  first  part  of  his  career, 
Joseph  de  Maistre  and  de  Bonald,  preached  the 
same  doctrine :  the  doctrine  best  expressed  per- 
haps by  Burke  in  his  Reflections  on  the  French 
Revolution,  the  ideal  of  organic  growth  as 
opposed  to  radical  reconstruction,  the  sanctity 
of  tradition,  or,  in  Burke's  boldly  paradoxical 
terms,  the  wisdom  of  prejudice.  The  poHtical 
revolution  in  France  was  thus  followed  by  an 
intellectual  revolution  in  the  opposite  direction. 

For  a  long  time,  it  was  the  turn  of  the  believers 
in  human  reason  to  be  eclipsed.  All  the  great 
romanticists  at  first  were  reactionary  in  their 
thought:  Hugo  and  Michalet  as  well  as  Lamar- 

180 


PAUL  BOURGET 


tine  and  Vigny.  Balzac  remained  to  the  last 
the  "  knight  of  the  throne  and  the  altar."  In 
the  years  that  preceded  the  Revolution  of  1848, 
the  Romanticists  were  converted  to  free-thought 
and  democracy — two  manifestations  of  eigh- 
teenth-century rationalism.  But  the  heyday  of 
Romanticism  was  already  over.*  Meanwhile, 
the  cause  of  authority  and  tradition  gained  a 
new  and  formidable  champion  in  the  person  of 
Auguste  Comte,  the  father  of  Positivism,  the 
man  who  created  Sociology,  or  at  least  found  a 
name  for  it.  In  the  second  half  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  the  ideas  of  Voltaire  and  Rous- 
seau sweep  irresistibly  onward  in  actual  politics : 
even  the  Second  Empire  is  a  democratic  regime, 
and  Napoleon  III.  a  tyrant  by  the  will  of  the 
people.  But  in  their  hour  of  practical  triumph, 
these  same  ideas  lose  caste,  as  it  were;  the 
rationalism  of  Voltaire,  Diderot,  Rousseau,  Con- 
dorcet,  the  "  immortal  principles  "  of  1789,  are 
no  longer  defended  except  by  pompous  fools  like 
Monsieur  Homais.f 

The  lead  of  the  progressive  forces  passes  from 

*  The  failure  of  Hugo's  Bur  graves  in  1843  marks  the 
beginning  of  a  reaction  against  Romanticism. 

t  Homais :  the  Voltairian  druggist  in  Flaubert's  Madame 
Bovary. 

181 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

rationalism  to  science.  The  great  revolution  of 
thought  which  began  at  the  close  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century  and  culminated  with  Darwin's 
Origin  of  Species  had  made  science  much  less 
contemptuous  of  tradition,  much  less  icono- 
clastic, than  rationalism  had  been:  there  is  an 
abyss  between  Voltaire  and  Renan,  between 
d'Holbach  and  Taine.  Yet  the  conservative 
elements,  and  in  particular  the  Catholic  Church, 
were  not  satisfied  with  their  partial  victory :  they 
demanded  the  unconditional  surrender  of  human 
reason  to  authority  and  tradition ;  and  as  science 
could  not  comply,  it  was  treated  as  the  enemy. 
Now  it  happened  that  the  two  most  influential 
exponents  of  the  scientific  philosophy,  Renan 
and  Taine,  frightened  by  the  horrors  of  the  Com- 
mune, went  over  to  the  camp  of  reaction: 
Renan 's  book,  The  Intellectual  and  Moral  Re- 
formation {of  France), \s  still  an  arsenal  of  argu- 
ments for  the  traditionalist.  But,  after  a  period 
of  weary  conservatism,  and  a  longer  period  of 
smihng  scepticism,  Renan  veered  slowly  back 
to  the  ideal  of  his  youth,  and,  on  his  death-bed, 
decided  to  publish  his  "  thoughts  of  1848,"  The 
Future  of  Science.  Taine 's  mind,  less  finely 
balanced,  did  not  swing  back :  he  spent  the  last 
182 


PAUL  BOURGET 


twenty  years  of  his  life  ruining  the  legend  of 
the  great  Revolution,  battering  down  Jacobin 
rationalism  with  the  ram  of  his  impassioned 
logic,  and,  swayed  by  English  and  German  in- 
fluences, restoring  the  indispensable  notions  of 
authority,  organic  growth,  tradition.  Bourget 
and  Barres  are  the  disciples  of  Taine:  doctrine, 
method,  and  even  style,  the  mark  of  the  imperi- 
ous Master  is  on  every  one  of  their  books. 
Bourget  counts  among  the  greatest  privileges  of 
his  intellectual  life  the  friendships  he  has  formed 
with  Taine  among  his  elders,  with  Barres  among 
his  younger  contemporaries,  with  Maurras  as 
the  representative  of  a  new  generation.  Barres 
places  Taine  almost  on  a  level  with  Napoleon 
as  a  ".professor  of  energy,"  but  even  Taine  has 
now  been  left  behind.  His  conservatism,  his 
traditionalism  were  still  based  on  science,  and 
ultimately  on  human  reason :  Bourget  attacked 
science  itself  in  his  novel  The  Disciple,  and 
Brunetiere  proclaimed  "  the  bankruptcy  of 
science  " — a  famous  catchword.  In  literature, 
the  traditionalists  are  in  almost  undisputed 
possession  of  the  field.  Anatole  France  seemed 
to  be  with  them  during  the  earlier  part  of  his 
career.     At  the  height  of  his  fame,  he  was  a 

183 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

Pyrrhonian  rather  than  a  rationahst ;  even  before 
the  war,  he  had  relapsed  into  spiritual  nihilism; 
and  his  excursion  into  socialism  has  not  greatly 
increased  his  glory.  Zola  ? — Zola  had  un- 
doubted genius,  and  he  sided  with  the  rationa- 
lists and  the  scientists.  But  his  unsavoury 
notoriety  worked  against  him,  and,  as  a  thinker, 
he  was  not  very  far  removed  from  Monsieur 
Homais. 

A  paradoxical  situation  indeed :  in  free-think- 
ing, revolutionary  France,  at  the  beginning  of 
the  twentieth  century,  the  literary  elite  is  over- 
whelmingly conservative,  not  to  say  reactionary. 
Does  this  conflict  prove  that  Radicals  are  fools, 
or  that  litterateurs  are  knaves  ?  By  no  means. 
It  merely  affords  us  a  striking  instance  of  what 
we  have  called  the  misrepresentative  quality  of 
literature.  And  before  we  can  proceed  with  the 
study  of  Bourget's  theses,  we  have  to  discount 
that  "  misrepresentative  quality." 

Literature  is  not  seldom  a  reaction  against  the 
facts  of  life,  rather  than  a  true  interpretation 
thereof:  just  because  democracy  is  spreading  so 
irresistibly,  because  its  advantages  are  obvious 
to  the  average  mind,  reaction  hath  charms  for 
the  subtler  and  more  aristocratic  intellects  of 

184 


PAUL  BOURGET 


professional  writers.  Their  chivalry  is  enlisted 
on  the  side  of  "  a  slowly  dying  cause."  In  every 
writer,  even  those  of  the  sharpest  wit,  there 
lurks  a  Chateaubriand  or  a  Byron,  a  sentimen- 
talist who  enjoys  the  part  he  is  playing  not  pri- 
marily because  it  is  right,  but  because  it  is  poetic. 
When  the  people  were  oppressed,  it  may  have 
been  noble  to  side  with  them:  since  the  advent 
of  universal  suffrage,  the  glamour  is  on  the 
other  side.  More  matter-of-fact  influences  are  at 
work.  Authors  are  bourgeois  through  their  edu- 
cation and  their  interests,  even  though  they  were 
born  among  peasants  or  mechanics.  For  their 
literary,  financial  and  social  success,  they  have 
to  depend  upon  the  educated  reading  public — 
that  is  to  say,  upon  the  upper,  and  upper  middle, 
class;  unconsciously — I  would  not  for  the  world 
ascribe  to  them  any  degrading  insincerity  or 
snobbishness — they  must  espouse  the  prejudices 
of  that  class.  This  is  particularly  true  of  Paul 
Bourget:  we  shall  see  how  he  revels  in  the 
chronicling  of  **  high  life."  With  lesser  men,  it 
may  be  feared  that  traditionalism  is  simply  part 
of  the  equipment  of  a  gentleman,  the  "  white 
carnation  "*  that  must  grace  his  buttonhole. 

*  The  white  carnation  is  the  poUtical  badge  of  the  Royalist. 

185 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

There  is  a  deeper  reason  for  these  conserva- 
tive tendencies  of  Hterary  men.  After  all,  litera- 
ture is  essentially  conservative.  Our  enjoyment 
of  any  work  of  art  is  seldom  absolutely  spon- 
taneous :  it  is  based  on  a  training,  which  itself 
reposes  on  canons,  or  models,  or  traditions.  We 
may  smile  at  the  antiquated  conception  according 
to  which  "  culture  "  consists  in  having  read 
certain  books :  but  smiling  will  not  alter  facts, 
and,  shorn,  let  us  hope,  of  its  excesses,  this  con- 
ception rules  us  to-day.  "  Style  "  must  con- 
form to  certain  standards — were  it  only  those  of 
grammar;  and  it  is  history  rather  than  logic 
that  slowly  shapes  these  standards  for  us.  Quo- 
tations are  pedantic :  but  much  of  the  charm  of 
style  consists  in  veiled,  half-conscious  allusions, 
through  which  we  draw  on  past  treasures,  and 
impart  to  words  and  phrases  more  than  their 
plain  everyday  value.  You  will  not  be  credited 
with  "  good  taste  "  unless  you  fall  in  line,  in  the 
main,  with  the  procession  headed  by  critics  and 
professors :  always  the  worship  of  the  past  ! 
Not  so  with  science  and  industry.  They  live  in 
an  eternal  To-Day.  Nothing  is  true  for  a 
scientist  simply  because  Newton  and  Lavoisier 
said  so.     Indeed  it  is  not  necessary  that  you 

1 86 


PAUL  BOURGET 


should  think  of  Newton  and  Lavoisier  at  alL 
There  is  nothing  an  engineer  loves  so  well  as  to 
send  his  predecessor's  machinery  to  the  scrap- 
heap. 

It  might  be  entertaining  to  imagine  what 
would  happen,  if  the  radical  spirit  of  engineering 
should  prevail  in  art  and  literature.  The  worship 
of  tradition  would  be  voted  a  superstition — a 
huge  joke,  and  a  dull  one  at  that,  perpetrated 
and  handed  down  by  the  self-perpetuating  aris- 
tocracy of  culture.  Three-fourths  of  our  so- 
called  classics  would  go  to  the  scrap-heap.  Our 
own  English  tongue  needs  overhauling:  why 
remain  for  ever  bound  by  the  haphazard,  arti- 
ficial grammar  of  our  ancestors,  when  the  prattle 
of  every  child  shows  us  that  regularity  and  logic 
alone  are  natural  ?*  Meanwhile,  we  demur  even 
at  simplified  spelling. 

No  radical  are  we,  especially  in  questions  of 
culture;  and  the  vision  of  a  literary  world  re- 
modelled by  engineers — even  by  such  a  splendid 
barbarian  as  H.  G.  Wells — is  by  no  means  pleas- 
ing to  our  mind.  Neither  should  the  engineering 
world  be  governed  by  the  sentimental  tradition- 

*  If  our  children  were  not  artificially  checked,  we  would 
get  rid  of  all  irregular  verbs  in  the  space  of  one  generation. 

187 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

worship  that  prevails,  and  must  prevail,  in  art 
and  literature.  When  it  comes  to  the  gover- 
nance of  human  affairs,  it  is  at  least  an  open 
question  whether  the  engineering  or  the  artistic 
spirit  should  be  supreme;  and  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  the  former  provides  the  motive  power, 
whilst  the  latter  is  at  best  a  useful  check.  Bour- 
get  and  his  school  may  be  performing  a  necessary- 
task,  like  the  tugboats  which,  on  the  river  Clyde, 
follow,  instead  of  preceding,  the  large  steamers, 
in  order  to  steady  them  against  dangerous  cur- 
rents. It  may  be  an  excellent  thing  for  a 
democracy  to  tow  in  its  wake  an  aristocratic 
literature :  but  the  essential  factor  is  progressive 
democracy. 

We  have  sketched — with  caricatural  roughness, 
no  doubt — the  evolution  of  the  doctrine  of  tra- 
dition in  modern  French  thought.  We  may  now 
examine  the  special  colouring  that  this  doctrine 
assumed  in  the  works  of  Paul  Bourget. 


i88 


PAUL  BOURGET 


§  2.  Paul  Bourget  as  a  Psychologist. 

Many-sided  culture — The  chronicler  of  Parisian  elegance — 
Amiel's  disease — "  Un  cochon  triste." 

Paul  Bourget  is  a  man  of  broad  culture  and 
versatile  interests.  He  gave  great  promise  as  a 
poet,  and  might  have  been  the  rival  and  successor 
of  Sully-Prudhomme  in  the  limited  and  aristo- 
cratic domain  of  psychological  elegy.  His  work 
as  a  literary  critic  is  considerable  in  bulk,  and 
of  great  significance.  Few  books  have  created 
a  deeper  impression  than  his  Essays  in  Con- 
temporary Psychology.  The  articles  of  "  im- 
pressionists "  like  Jules  Lemaitre  and  Anatole 
France  have  incomparably  more  charm;  the 
studies  of  Brunetiere  bear  evidence  of  more 
erudition:  but  Bourget  is  the  most  penetrating 
of  all,  and  the  one  that  most  irresistibly  compels 
us  to  think  of  things  worth  while.  In  analyzing 
his  masters,  from  Stendhal  and  Baudelaire  to 
Amiel  and  Turgeniev,  he  has  given  us  an  invalu- 
able document  on  his  own  generation.  He  has 
diagnosed  what  we  may  call  the  second  "  mal 
du  si^cle,"  Amiel's  disease,  the  morbid  paralysis 
of  the  will  due  to  excessive  introspection.  He 
is  a  master  of  travel  literature.     Not  a  mere 

189 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

painter,  like  Gautier ;  not  a  lyric  poet,  like  Loti : 
in  this,  as  in  his  criticism,  he  is  the  disciple  of 
Taine:  his  picturesqueness  is  the  brilliant  result 
of  a  visible  effort,  and  the  background  of  every 
description  is  a  theory  to  test,  or  rather  to  prove. 
He  is  an  analyst,  careful  and  well-informed.  On 
England,  Italy,  and  America  {Outre-Mer),  he 
has  left  us  studies  of  enduring  value.  He  is 
well-versed  in  languages  and  literatures,  both 
classical  and  modern.  In  art-criticism  and  in 
physiology,  he  is  at  least  an  intelligent  amateur : 
Taine  again,  and  at  every  turn  1  We  have  the 
greatest  respect  for  a  novelist  who  is  naught  but 
a  novelist,  provided  he  be  a  good  one.  But 
some  of  Bourget's  works  might  be  considered  as 
typical  "yellow-backs,"  and  it  may  not  be  idle 
to  show  that  their  author  is  no  mere  Parisian 
clubman.  However  risky  his  subjects  may  be, 
he  is  more  liable  to  fall  into  pedantry  than  into 
frivolousness. 

There  is  therefore  an  aspect  of  Bourget's 
novels  that  we  may  dismiss  at  once  as  unim- 
portant, although  obtrusive  and  intensely  disa- 
greeable :  the  chronicling  of  Parisian  and  cosmo- 
politan "  high-life."  It  were  idle  to  deny  that 
there  is  in   Bourget  an  element  of  downright 

190 


PAUL  BOURGET 


snobbishness.  He  comes  from  that  dimbing 
and  envious  class,  the  lesser  bourgeoisie,  and  is 
delighted  to  hobnob  with  authentic  counts  and 
barons  of  the  old  Faubourg  Saint-Germain.  He 
describes  dresses,  coiffures,  jewellery,  with  a 
minuteness  and  an  accuracy  which  would  be  a 
credit  to  the  society  column  of  the  London  illus- 
trated papers.  He  is  an  expert  upholsterer,  an 
authority  on  bric-a-brac,  a  connoisseur  in  per- 
fumes, a  gourmet,  a  faultless  dresser  and  a  grand 
master  of  etiquette.  All  that  must  be  of  breath- 
less interest  to  shopgirls:  to  a  normal  man  it  is 
somewhat  nauseating.  But  this  is  only  a  foible, 
not  the  essence  of  Bourget's  talent.  And  it 
must  be  added  that  he  has  depicted,  with  a 
power  not  far  short  of  Balzac's,  social  surround- 
ings which  were  by  no  means  aristocratic.  There 
are  few  portrayals  of  lower  middle-class  life  that 
are  more  convincing  than  the  household  of 
Adrien  Sixte  in  The  Disciple  or  the  home  of 
the  poet  Ren^  Vinci,  in  Lies.  If  Bourget  knows 
the  latest  fashion  in  flounces,  he  can  also  tell  us 
the  price  of  butter.* 

*  At  least  he  could  twenty  years  ago.  In  a  recent 
work,  L'Etape,  the  description  of  the  Monneron  family  is 
by  no  means  convincing. 

191 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

Without  any  undue  turn  for  the  paradoxical, 
an  admirer  of  Paul   Bourget   might   find  some 
good  excuse  for  the  alleged  snobbishness  of  his 
favourite  writer.     The  art  of  Paul  Bourget  is 
classical  in  character :  its  ideal — the  French  ideal 
— ^is  one  of  combined  concentration  and  lucidity, 
obtained  by  the  elimination  of  the  irrelevant. 
A  French  novel,  like  a   French  drama,  is  not 
primarily  a  work  of  gorgeous  fancy,  or  humour, 
or  passion,  but  a  psychological  study  reduced  to 
its  essential  terms,  the  study  of  a  crisis.     A  book 
like  Lorna  Doone,  in  which  the  story,  good  as  it 
is,  is  but  a  pretext  for  delightful  digressions,  is 
radically   un- French.     In   its   extreme   form,   a 
French  work   of  fiction   becomes   almost  sche- 
matic :  it  describes  a  conflict  between  characters 
as  general  as  those  of  the  old  MoraUties.     Now, 
in  order  to  realize  that  high  degree  of  abstrac- 
tion   without    absolutely    sacrificing   verisimili- 
tude,  the   Classics   set   their   plays   among  the 
kings   and   queens   of  antiquity;   thus   material 
details  could  be  omitted;  naught  but  a  tragedy 
of  souls  remained.     What  is  the  modern  literary 
equivalent  for  the  semi-fabulous  princes  of  old  ? 
Why,  the  idle  aristocracy  of  to-day,  for  they  have 
the  leisure,  the  freedom  from  financial  worries, 
192 


PAUL  BOURGET 


the  absence  of  professional  deformations  and 
cares,  which  enable  the  writer  to  reduce  material 
details  to  a  minimum.  The  heroes  and  heroines 
of  Bourget's  earlier  novels  may  be  called  "  pre- 
pared psychological  specimens  ";  they  are  pre- 
served in  a  sterile  milieu ;  hence  Octave  Mirbeau's 
jibe  that,  for  Bourget,  no  one  had  a  soul  unless 
he  also  had  40,000  francs  a  year.  Naturally 
enough,  with  such  elements  only  a  limited  kind 
of  experiments  can  be  performed.  Almost  the 
only  reagent  that  the  writer  has  not  eliminated 
is  the  universal  acid — ^love.  So  the  typical 
Bourget  story  is  a  love  crisis,  involving  three  or 
at  most  four  or  five  people,  deliberately  unpic- 
turesque,  artificial  in  its  bold  simplification,  and 
yet  claiming  universal  significance.  In  other 
words,  if  Bourget  lingers  so  blissfully  among  the 
four  hundred,  it  is  because  he  is  the  successor 
of  Racine. 

Bourget's  special  domain  is  the  psychological 
novel.  In  this  field  his  direct  masters  were 
Gustave  Flaubert  and  Balzac,  but  especially 
Henri  Beyle,  or  Stendhal.  Balzac  and  Flaubert 
were  keen  analysts  of  individual  characters  or 
passions:  but  their  ambition  was  to  give  a  total 
picture  of  life.  For  Stendhal,  and  for  Bourget 
o  193 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

after  him,  psychology,  instead  of  being  one  of 
the  elements,  became  the  chief  purpose  of  the 
work.  Stendhal  himself,  who  wrote  in  the 
thirties  of  the  last  century,  had  said:  "  I  shall 
be  understood  about  1880  " — a  prophecy  which 
was  fulfilled  with  curious  exactitude.  Not  only 
did  Bourget  borrow  from  Stendhal  his  general 
method :  the  very  structure  of  his  most  famous 
novel.  The  Disciple,  comes  straight  from  Red  and 
Black. 

Bourget 's  psychology  shows  us  wheels  within 
wheels.  It  does  not  so  much  consist  in  the 
analysis  of  a  state  of  mind,  as  in  the  analysis  of 
analysis.  About  1880,  for  a  number  of  reasons 
that  we  have  attempted  to  sketch  in  our  first 
chapter,  there  was  in  Europe — in  Russia,  in 
Germany,  and  especially  in  France — a  disparity 
between  the  power  of  intellectual  analysis  and 
the  power  of  action.  The  world  seemed  to  be 
stricken  with  Hamlet's  disease:  thought  para- 
lyzing energy.  Of  this  malady,  the  best  known 
expression  is  Amiel's  Journal.  The  Barres  who 
wrote  Under  the  Eyes  of  the  Barbarians,  with  his 
glorification  of  introspection  as  a  method  of  self- 
culture,  is  one  of  the  last  representatives  of  that 
tendency.     Bourget   was   accused   of  spreading 

194 


PAUL  BOURGET 


the  disease  which  he  described :  he  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  refuting  the  charge.  His  chief  problem 
was  to  study  the  effects  of  conscious  analysis  in 
a  weak  soul:  the  scruples,  inhibitions,  deforma- 
tions, morbidities,  which  such  analysis  must 
needs  engender.  I  mentioned  Hamlet :  one  of 
the  best  among  Bourget's  early  books,  Andre 
Cornells,  is  a  reworking  of  Shakespeare's  tragedy 
in  modern  garb.  Bourget's  conclusion  is  that 
introspection  has  a  depressing  influence;  that 
the  surest  way  of  failing  to  see  the  truth  is  to  go 
about  with  a  microscope.  In  ^  Crime  of  Love, 
in  The  Promised  Land,  we  see  how  utterly  blind 
and  unjust  a  man  can  be  when  he  trains  on  a 
genuine  affection  the  destructive  weapons  of  his 
analysis.  Analysis  is  safe  enough  in  the  hands 
of  a  scientist :  in  the  hands  of  a  lover,  it  breeds 
diffidence,  jealousy,  hatred.  Finally,  in  The 
Disciple,  he  shows  us  a  man  who,  not  satisfied 
with  analyzing  the  sentiments  which  come  spon- 
taneously within  his  ken,  creates  conditions  for 
the  express  purpose  of  carrying  out  an  experi- 
ment. Robert  Greslou  sets  before  himself  the 
psychological  task  of  seducing  a  noble  and  trust- 
ful girl,  in  order  to  see  how  she  will  react.  The 
result  is  death.     The  girl's  brother,  a  soldier, 

^9S 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

whose  thought  is  simple,  straight  and  sure,  shoots 
down  the  young  "  scientist  "  who  had  performed 
that  heartless  piece  of  vivisection .  Whilst  analy- 
sis mars  or  destroys  genuine  sentiment,  whilst 
it  cannot  create  love,  it  is  powerless  to  root  out  a 
passion  known  to  be  worthless.  In  Lies  and  in 
Physiology  of  Modern  Love,  Larcher  is  conscious 
that  his  enslavement  to  Colette  is  degrading: 
but  the  analysis  of  his  own  degradation  tortures 
him  without  curing  him.  Nay,  it  makes  his 
disease  worse,  it  gives  his  sin  a  strange  power  of 
morbid  fascination.  The  first  lesson  derived 
from  Bourget's  works  is  thus  curiously  self- 
destructive:  his  analysis  concludes  to  the  con- 
demnation of  analysis. 

The  last  two  books  we  have  mentioned,  Lies 
and  Physiology  of  Modern  Love,  are  singularly 
daring  in  their  picture  of  impure  passion.  In 
Suzanne  Moraines,  Bourget  has  attempted  to  give 
us  his  Valerie  Marneffe:  the  society  courtesan, 
outwardly  respectable,  and  more  utterly  rotten 
at  heart  than  her  confessed  congeners.  Colette, 
a  study  in  blatant  perversity,  is  far  less  con- 
vincing. It  is  praise  enough  for  Bourget — it 
would  be  praise  enough  for  any  novelist — to  say 
that  he  has  at  times  rivalled  "  the  monster  him- 

196 


PAUL  BOURGET 


self,"  Balzac.  The  Physiology — another  touch  of 
Balzacian  influence* — was  published  serially  in 
a  paper,  Parisian  Life,  which  was  honoured  by 
contributions  from  Taine  himself,  and  which  the 
American  mail  would  very  properly  refuse  to 
carry.  Even  in  book  form,  and  somewhat  toned 
down,  it  remains  a  work  for  specialists,  like 
certain  medical  treatises  or  like  the  Manual  of 
Confessors,  to  be  kept  under  lock  and  key,  away 
from  youthful  curiosities.  It  was  at  that  time 
that  Bourget  was  nicknamed  "  un  cochon  triste  " 
— and  can  you  conceive  of  a  more  God-for- 
saken creature  than  **  un  cochon  triste  "  (a 
melancholy  swine)?  Yet,  at  the  same  moment, 
Bourget  was  already  claiming  to  be  a  moralist. 
His  studies,  he  said,  were  "  anatomical  prepara- 
tions ";  and  "  psychology  is  to  ethics  what  ana- 
tomy is  to  physiology."  We  have  no  right  to 
challenge  the  sincerity  of  this  defence:  but  we 
cannot  admit  its  validity.  The  pornographic 
element  in  Bourget  was  a  form  of  a  collective 
hterary  disease — the  brutal  pessimism  which, 
libellously,  called  itself  realistic  or  naturalistic. 
It  is  in  the  same  strain  as  Becque's  comedies  or 

*  Cf.  Physiologie  du  Manage,  by  Balzac,  and  De  I' Amour, 
by  Stendhal. 

197 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

Zola's  novels;  and  there  are  healthy-minded 
judges  who  find  Zola's  stench  less  nauseating 
than  Bourget's  perfumery. 


§  3,  Paul  Bourget  as  a  Moralist. 

The  Disciple — The  moral  bankruptcy  of  science — Recon- 
struction of  France  on  the  basis  of  tradition — Catho- 
licism, indissoluble  family,  permanent  classes — A  re- 
trospective Utopia. 

Lies  ended  with  a  sermon  by  Father  Taconet 
— one  of  a  long  series  which  was  to  turn  the 
Alter  Ego  of  Larcher  into  the  successor  of  Bos- 
suet.  It  was  in  The  Disciple  that  Bourget 
appeared,  for  the  first  time,  consistently  and 
unhesitatingly,  on  the  side  of  the  Angels .  Adrien 
Sixte  is  a  modern  saint — a  compound  of  Spinoza, 
Littr6,  Vacherot,  and  Taine.  His  philosophy  is 
the  materialistic  determinism  which  led  Taine  to 
write:  "  Vice  and  virtue  are  products  like  vit- 
riol and  sugar."  Robert  Greslou  is  "  the  dis- 
ciple "  of  Adrien  Sixte.  His  master's  theories 
have  ruined  in  him  every  notion  of  good  and 
evil.  Introduced  as  a  tutor  into  a  private  family, 
he  coldly  proceeds  to  seduce  his  pupil's  sister. 
We  have  already  said  that  she  committed 
198 


PAUL  BOURGET 


suicide,  and  that  her  elder  brother  avenged  her. 
We  have  three  problems  in  that  sombre,  repul- 
sive, powerful  tale :  first  of  all,  the  condemnation 
of  analysis  in  matters  of  the  heart ;  then,  and  of 
much  greater  importance,  the  practical  respon- 
sibility of  those  who,  blameless  in  their  own 
lives,  propound  dangerous  theories;  the  third, 
and  chief  est,  is  the  bankruptcy  of  science  as  an 
ethical  factor.  Sixte  is  a  saint:  but  he  has  de- 
praved Greslou.  Has  he  ?  No  more  than  Jesus 
has  depraved  Torquemada.  A  criminal  with  a 
certain  turn  for  logic  will  easily  find  some  doc- 
trinal justification  for  his  impulses  and  his  mis- 
deeds. A  brigand  like  Bonnot,  with  a  touch  of 
literature,  will  call  himself  an  Anarchist — per- 
haps a  Darwinian  or  a  Nietzschean.  Had  Gres- 
lou been  a  practising  Catholic,  and  yet  the  scamp 
he  was  at  heart — there  is  nothing  absurd  in  such 
an  hypothesis — he  would  have  behaved  just  as 
badly  as  the  other  Catholic  heroes  of  Bourget; 
as  badly  as  Raymond  Casal,  for  instance,  a  pro- 
fessional Don  Juan  who  is  not  pedantic  enough 
to  justify  his  perversities  with  arguments  bor- 
rowed from  Taine  and  Spencer. 

In  so  far  as  Bourget  attempts  to  lay  on  Adrien 
Sixte 's  shoulders  the  positive  responsibility  for 

199 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

Greslou's  depravation,  I  earnestly  believe  he 
fails.  He  is  more  successful  in  his  claim  that 
science  cannot  provide  a  basis  for  morality.  A 
man  relying  upon  it  is  clutching  a  rope  of  sand. 
Science  tells  us  what  is,  not  what  should  be. 
Take  the  most  obvious  case,  that  of  alcoholism. 
Science  can  but  point  out  the  physiological 
effects  of  the  poison.  But  if  a  man,  with  his 
eyes  open,  still  craves  for  a  few  minutes  of  ex- 
citement or  oblivion,  at  whatever  cost,  what  can 
science  say  to  him  ?  It  can  warn,  but  not 
forbid. 

Sixte  and  his  fellow-materialists  are  therefore 
negatively  responsible  for  Greslou,  if  they  have 
indeed  weakened  prohibitions  for  which  they 
have  no  substitute  to  offer.  Morality  consists 
in  inducing  the  individual  to  sacrifice  his  imme- 
diate satisfaction  for  the  sake  of  distant  advan- 
tages, which  may  be  deferred  till  after  his  death, 
and  may  not  even  accrue  to  himself  personally 
at  all.  In  terms  of  strict  individualism,  it  does 
not  always  pay :  nay,  it  may  be  called  an  elabor- 
ate system  of  cheating  mankind  in  detail  for 
the  good  of  the  whole.  Optimists  will  tell  you 
that  there  is  in  man  an  innate  tendency  that 
makes   for   righteousness:   but   the   time   when 

200 


PAUL  BOURGET 


Bourget  wrote  The  Disciple,  and  indeed  the  last 
two  generations,  was  no  time  for  blind  optimism. 
Renan  himself  doubted  whether  mankind  were 
not  living  on  its  moral  capital,  with  the  end  of 
its  reserves  already  in  sight:  "  We  act  under  the 
empire  of  ancient  customs;  we  are  like  those 
animals  whose  brains  have  been  removed  by 
physiologists  and  which  continue  none  the  less 
to  perform  certain  vital  functions  as  the  effect 
of  habit.  But  these  instinctive  movements  will 
grow  weaker  and  weaker  with  time.  .  .  ,  The 
faith  we  live  by  is  but  the  shadow  of  a  shadow. 
What  shall  they  live  by  that  come  after  us  ?"* 
Moral  discipline  cannot  be  maintained  except  as 
the  result  of  a  slowly  changing,  overwhelming 
tradition — except  as  a  beneficent  prejudice, 
whose  sole  justification  is  that,  on  the  whole  and 
in  the  long  run,  it  is  beneficent.  In  France,  that 
overwhelming  tradition,  which  silences  the  selfish 
revolt  of  the  individual,  is  embodied  in  the 
Catholic  Church.  In  his  bold  pictures  of  sinful 
love,  Bourget  has  shown  whither  natural  man 
is  led  unrestrained  by  some  moral  authority  not 
centred  in  himself.      There  are  diseases  of  the 

*  Renan,  Dialogues    et   Fragments   Philosophiques,    Pre- 
face, xix. 

20I 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

soul,  as  there  are  diseases  of  the  flesh.  There 
must  be  a  moral  prophylaxy  and  a  moral  hygiene. 
And  of  these  Rome  has  the  secret. 

This  general  principle  laid  down,  Bourget  is 
too  logical  to  balk  at  details.  He  advocates  a 
total  reconstruction  of  national  life  on  the  lines 
of  the  Ancient  Regime,  a  frank  return  to  Catho- 
licism, monarchy,  and  the  system  of  distinct 
classes.  First  of  all,  the  family  must  be  stable: 
divorce  laws  are  a  crime  against  society.  There 
can  be  no  continuity  of  effort  through  the  ages, 
no  "  family  "  can  become  a  "  house  "  so  long 
as,  with  every  generation,  the  family  property 
is  divided  among  all  the  children :  the  privilege 
of  the  eldest  son  must  be  restored.  The  family 
must  be  doubly  rooted  in  its  habitat  and  in  its 
profession :  we  need  dynasties  of  local  merchants, 
artisans,  and  farmers.  Only  by  a  slow  and  safe 
ascent  will  a  family  pass  from  the  lower  to  the 
upper  reaches  of  its  own  class;  in  exceptional 
cases  only,  and  after  the  preparation  of  centuries, 
can  a  bourgeois  pass  into  the  ranks  of  the 
nobility.  Thus,  instead  of  our  chaotic,  feverish, 
demoralized  pseudo-democracy,  shall  we  have  an 
organic  society,  capable  of  evolution,  but  averse 
to  cataclysmic  changes ;  instead  of  the  nefarious 
202 


PAUL  BOURGET 


"  rights  of  man,"  we  shall  have  a  finely  adjusted 
balance  between  the  hereditary  privileges  of 
classes  and  families;  at  the  apex  of  this  living 
pyramid,  the  Royal  Family,  the  symbol  of  tra- 
dition, continuity,  privilege;  the  King,  whose 
selfish  interest  must  needs  be  the  interest  of 
the  whole  nation  that  supports  him  as  it  has 
supported  his  father  and  will  support  his  son. 
The  Church  smooths  the  working  of  the  social 
machine  in  the  spirit  of  charity,  and  assures  us 
that  the  order  which  we  have  to  accept  here 
below  is  divinely  appointed,  the  earthly  shadow 
of  the  eternal  order  above. 

Paul  Bourget  is  no  mystic.  His  apologetics  are 
based  on  "  scientific  "  observations.  Like  other 
modern  champions  of  reaction,  like  Auguste 
Comte  himself,  like  Taine,  like  Maurras,  he  is 
a  "  positivist."  Let  us  see  how  his  doctrine 
stands  the  test  of  facts. 

There  is  a  group  of  people  who  hold,  almost 
to  a  man,  the  same  faith  as  Paul  Bourget :  the 
French  nobility.  We  do  not  believe  that  they 
are  rotten  or  even  effete :  but  their  moral  superi- 
ority over  the  middle  class  and  the  people  is  not 
glaring.  Indeed,  Bourget  has  complacently  de- 
scribed the  utter  frivolity,  the  corruption,  which 

203 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


are  so  common  in  aristocratic  circles.  We  find 
in  his  books  an  array  of  heroes — or  villains — 
who,  in  spite  of  their  titles,  their  loyalty  to  the 
Royal  cause,  their  allegiance  to  the  Catholic 
faith,  are  gamblers,  swindlers,  and  adulterers. 
In  L' Emigre,  he  attempts  to  give  us  an  ideal 
picture  of  a  Seigneur  of  old — the  champion  and 
symbol  of  the  hereditary  principle,  a  family 
portrait  breathing  and  walking  among  us.  But 
the  Marquis  de  Claviers-Grandchamps  is  an 
incorrigible  spendthrift — the  Napoleonic  Code 
is  not  solely  responsible  for  the  impoverish- 
ment of  the  aristocracy  ! — and  his  son,  the  most 
attractive  character  in  the  story,  is  a  bastard. 
Julie  Monneron*  allows  herself  to  be  seduced; 
this  is  meant  to  prove  that  families  which  have 
risen  too  rapidly  and  skipped  the  intermediate 
stages  do  not  rest  on  a  firm  moral  foundation. 
But  her  seducer,  Rumesnil,  is  a  scion  of  the  old 
nobility;  and  it  must  be  granted  that  he  had 
his  share  of  responsibility  in  the  ruin  of  the  poor 
schoolgirl.  Shall  we  say  that  even  Catholics 
and  Monarchists,  at  the  present  day,  cannot 
escape  the  demoralizing  influence  of  free-thought 
and  democracy  ?     But  where  shall  we  find  the 

*  L'ttape. 
204 


PAUL  BOURGET 


lost  Paradise  ?  Was  the  France  of  Louis  XV.  and 
the  Pompadour,  the  France  of  the  Regent  and 
Cardinal  Dubois,  the  France  of  Henry  IIL, 
Charles  IX.,  Francis  L,  strikingly  more  virtuous 
than  the  France  of  Loubet,  Falli^res  and  Poin- 
care  ?  The  Republic  had  its  Panama  scandals : 
the  financiers  of  the  Ancient  Regime  were  not 
above  suspicion,  and  the  system  of  farming  out 
the  collection  of  taxes  to  private  contractors 
was  naught  but  organized  robbery.  A  company 
of  friends  were  telling  horrific  stories  about 
thieves.  When  Voltaire's  turn  came,  he  capped 
them  all  with  these  simple  words:  "  Once  upon 
a  time,  there  was  a  tax  contractor.  ..."  Was 
the  Church  purer  when  Talleyrand,  Rohan,  Du- 
bois, Mazarin,  were  bishops  or  cardinals  ?  Were 
patriotism  and  loyalty  so  deep  among  the  no- 
bility, and  even  in  the  Royal  Family,  when 
Cond6  served  the  Spaniards  against  his  king,  or 
when  Louis  XI IL  had  to  fight  against  his  own 
mother  and  his  own  brother  ?  Where  is  the 
"  good  old  France  "  whose  loss  we  mourn  ? — 
In  the  name  of  continuity  and  tradition,  Bourget 
sweeps  aside  the  whole  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
which  is  "an  error";  then  the  whole  of  the 
eighteenth,  which  is  poisoned  with  the  ideas  of 

205 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

Voltaire  and  Rousseau;  then  Louis  XIV.  him- 
self, whose  centralizing  despotism  prepared  the 
Jacobin  tyranny.  Shall  we  find  our  ideal  in 
the  sixteenth  century,  the  age  of  religious 
strife  ?  At  the  time  of  the  Hundred  Years' 
War  ?  Under  Philippe  the  Fair,  whose  agent 
slapped  an  aged  Pope  in  the  face  ?  The  tradi- 
tionalists must  chase  as  far  back  as  the  reign  of 
Saint  Louis  that  retrospective  Utopia  of  theirs, 
elusive  and  unsubstantial  like  the  shadow  of  a 
dream. 

The  truth  is  that  Bourget  is  a  partisan,  who 
places  at  the  service  of  his  political  and  religious 
opinions  his  systematic  pessimism  concerning 
present  conditions,  his  no  less  blind  optimism 
concerning  the  past.  In  spite  of  scandals  and 
abuses,  old  France,  we  are  only  too  glad  to 
admit,  was  sound  at  heart :  but  so  is  the  France 
of  to-day.  And  the  tragic  events  of  the  Great 
War  have  ruined  Bourget 's  theories  more  effec- 
tually than  any  formal  refutation.  Had  peace 
been  preserved,  the  squabbles  of  home  politics 
would  have  continued,  wearisome  and  sordid; 
the  ancient  military  glory  of  France  would  have 
slowly  faded  away;  and,  until  a  new  ideal  had 
set  men's  souls  on  fire,  the  pessimists  would  have 

206 


PAUL  BOURGET 


had  a  free  field.  War  came;  and  the  France  of 
Viviani,  Briand,  Millerand,  Sembat,  stood  the 
unexampled  test  with  unexampled  fortitude. 
Calmness  and  dignity  in  the  hour  of  impending 
disaster;  unshakable  determination;  infinite 
patience;  efficiency  and  resourcefulness;  at  need, 
the  old  furia  francese  :  these  New  France  — 
Old  France,  Eternal  France — has  shown.  Had 
she  been  hopelessly  wrong  for  a  century  and  a 
half,  gangrened  with  foolish  and  monstrous 
Utopias,  she  would  no  longer  exist  as  a  nation : 
she  would  be  a  mob  of  helots  under  the  Prussian 
sword. 

Voltaire  again — I  wish  he  were  here  to  dis- 
pose of  our  modern  Nonottes  and  Patouillets 
— was  told  that  coffee  was  a  slow  poison.  The 
patriarch  was  then  eighty  years  old.  He  went  on 
sipping  his  tenth  cup  that  day,  and  remarked : 
"  Very  slow  indeed  !"  Apparently  democracy 
is  slower  still. 

Even  though  Bourget's  doctrines  were  as 
sound  as  they  seem  to  us  fanciful,  we  might 
doubt  whether  a  writer  of  fiction  is  well-advised 
in  posing  as  a  sociologist  or  as  a  theologian.  A 
novel  with  a  purpose  is  apt  to  be  one-sided  and 
mechanical  as  a  work  of  art;  and  as  an  argu- 

207  _j 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

ment,  it  can  never  be  thoroughly  convincing. 
Even  supposing  the  fiction  to  be  based  upon 
fact:  an  isolated  incident  proves  nothing;  its 
universal,  representative  value  has  to  be  estab- 
lished; and  the  same  fact  is  capable  of  con- 
flicting interpretations.  Bourget,  for  instance, 
gave  us  a  book  which  showed  some  of  the  diffi- 
culties arising  from  a  divorce,  even  under  the 
most  favourable  circumstances:  at  the  time 
when  the  divorce  law  was  under  discussion,  the 
French  stage  was  flooded  with  plays  showing 
the  evils  of  indissoluble  marriage.  Even  Bour- 
get's  own  story  could  be  rewritten,  without 
altering  the  characters  or  the  situations,  against 
his  main  thesis.  We  do  not  want  to  make  this 
condemnation  of  the  "  problem  novel  "  too 
sweeping.  The  discussion  of  ideas  is  a  sport  that 
no  genuine  Frenchman  would  be  willing  to  forego. 
A  writer  can  legitimately  arouse  sentiment 
or  excite  interest  about  some  social  or  spiri- 
tual problem.  Whatever  may  be  our  opinion 
as  to  their  artistic  value.  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin, 
Lay  Down  Your  Arms  !  and  Robert  Elsmere,  were 
useful  contributions  to  the  progress  of  great 
causes.  The  denunciation  of  abuses  by  Dickens 
has  not  impaired  his  powers  as  a  novelist,     In 

20S 


PAUL  BOURGET 


contemporary  French  literature,  The  Disen- 
chanted and  Colette  Baudoche  combine  a 
"  purpose  "  with  human  interest  and  poetic 
charm.  All  these  works  are  descriptions  of  con- 
ditions, rather  than  discussions  of  ideas.  Bour- 
get  is  too  keen  a  critic  not  to  be  conscious  of  the 
weakness  of  dogmatic  fiction  {litterature  a  th^se) ; 
he  claims  to  be  a  dispassionate  servant  of  truth ; 
his  novels  are  not  sermons,  but  studies;  and  as 
for  certain  classes  of  men,  especially  in  modern 
France,  abstract  ideas  are  of  deeper  import  than 
personal  ambition  and  even  love,  he  is  justified 
in  making  ideas  rather  than  individuals  the  true 
heroes  of  his  stories  {litterature  d'id^es).  The 
plea  is  specious.  Bourget  is  not  a  disinterested 
observer;  facts  are  selected  by  him  in  such  a 
way,  and  presented  in  such  a  light,  as  to  produce 
upon  the  reader  a  definite  impression.  The 
author  does  not  exclaim  at  the  end:  Quod  erat 
demonstrandum  !  but  he  visibly  hopes  that  we 
shall  be  led  to  say  it  for  ourselves.  If  it  is  not 
"  literature  with  a  thesis,"  it  is  at  least  *'  litera- 
ture with  a  tendency."  He  makes  a  great  show 
of  fairness;  in  all  his  latest  works,  in  The  Tri- 
bune,  The    Barricade*   A   Divorce,   The  Demon 

*  These  last  two  are  dramas. 
P  209 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

of  Midday,  The  Probation  Stage,  The  Sense  of 
Death,  the  men  whose  opinions  he  condemns  are, 
individually,  strong  and  well-meaning.  But 
this  fairness  is  only  the  feint  of  a  skilful  fencer : 
he  hopes  thereby  to  make  his  final  thrust  more 
telling. 

Yet,  in  these  sociological  treatises,  the  old 
technical  skill  of  the  novelist  is  not  altogether 
lacking;  the  power  of  psychological  analysis, 
confined  within  narrower  limits  by  the  need  of 
establishing  a  doctrine,  is  still  great;  and  there 
are  documentary  pages  on  modern  movements* 
that  the  historian  of  culture  cannot  afford  to 
neglect.  Lies  may  be  a  more  perfect  piece  of 
psychological  fiction:  but  the  productions  of 
Bourget's  last  period  set  you  thinking  about 
more  vital  problems  than  the  perversities  of 
Suzanne  and  Colette. 

I  am  sure  my  readers  have  felt  all  the  time 
the  difficulty  under  which  I  was  labouring  in 
this  chapter,  a  difficulty  which  I  have  not 
attempted  to  conceal.  I  do  not  like  Paul  Bour- 
get.     I    am    not    absolutely    convinced    of   his 

*■  Syndicalism  in  The  Barricade  ;  the  University  Settle- 
ments, or  Popular  Universities,  in  The  Probation  Stage 
{L'^tape),  Modernism  in  The  Demon  of  Midday. 

2IO 


PAUL  BOURGET 


sincerity,  I  am  painfully  conscious  of  constant 
effort  and  artifice  in  his  style,  and  of  a  taste  for 
the  abnormal  in  his  psychology.  His  doctrine 
seems  to  me  one-sided  and  depressing.  I  would 
cheerfully  give  all  his  works,  antehumous  and 
posthumous,  for  The  Crime  of  Sylvestre  Bonnard 
or  The  Iceland  Fisherman.  Yet  I  am  ready  to 
confess  that  he  is  a  singularly  intelligent  man; 
that  his  novels,  unconvincing  as  they  may  be, 
have  the  effect  of  rousing  discussion;  and  that 
they  can  be  read  with  a  mixture  of  irritation 
and  pleasure.  It  was  with  a  sigh  of  immense 
relief  that  I  came  to  the  end  of  his  thirty  or 
forty  volumes;  it  is  with  the  same  feeling  that  I 
reach  the  end  of  this  chapter;  and,  whether  he 
be  a  Radical  or  a  Traditionalist,  I  am  sure  that 
on  this  point  at  least  my  reader  will  agree  with 
me. 


211 


CHAPTER  VI 
MAURICE    BARRES 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MAURICE  BARRfeS. 

That  Anatole  France,  the  antiquarian,  the  dilet- 
tante, the  epicure,  should  have  become  Comrade 
Anatole  France,  spokesman  of  the  Conscious 
Proletariat  and  herald  of  the  Social  Revolution; 
that  Jean  Richepin,  the  "  Turanian,"  the  Gipsy, 
the  Gueux,  Rebellion  incarnate,  should  have 
turned  into  an  Academician,  a  Patriot,  one  of 
the  favourite  lecturers  of  orthodox  Respecta- 
bility; that  Paul  Bourget,  the  chronicler  of 
Suzanne,  Colette,  and  other  ladies  fair  and  frail, 
should  have  ascended  the  pulpit  of  Bossuet  and 
fulminated  against  the  heresies  of  the  modern 
world:  these  are  a  few  of  the  amazing  meta- 
morphoses provided  within  the  last  quarter  of  a 
century  by  the  great  Parisian  kaleidoscope. 
Hardly  less  singular  is  the  case  of  Maurice  Barrfes. 
Anarchism,  esoteric  symbolism,  decadent  roman- 
ticism, are  not  the  most  obvious  paths  for  a 
future  defender  of  Tradition  to  tread.  Yet  they 
seem  to  have  led  Barres — guided  by  some  subtle 

215 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

logic  of  his  own — to  a  position  not  widely  different 
from  that  of  his  friend  Bourget.     Bourget  is  the 
moralist  of  the  school ;  Charles  Maurras  its  poli- 
tical philosopher;  both  are  committed  to  the 
support  of  Catholicism  and  Monarchy.     Maurice 
Barres,  more  elusive  and  more  impassioned  than 
either,  is  the  poet  rather  than  the  theorist  of 
those    subconscious    influences,    ancestral    and 
local,  which  create  in  men's  souls  a  sense  of  their 
nationality.     French  "  Nationalism,"  as  a  poli- 
tical party,  has  proved  a  failure;  as  a  sentiment, 
its   potency  at  the  present  day  can  hardly  be 
exaggerated.     In    last    analysis,    the    problem 
around  which  the  Great  War  is  raging  is  this : 
"  What  is  a  nation  ?"     And  because  this  prob- 
lem is  the  keynote  of  Barres 's  works,  they  assume 
for  us  a  tragic  significance. 

§  I.  The  Novels  of  Maurice  Barr±s. 

(i.)  "  Ego- Worship  "  :  Analysis — Belated  Baudelairianism. 
(ii.)  Politics:  Boulanger — The  Romance  of  National 
Energy,  (iii.)  The  Uprooted  and  Regionalism — The 
Eastern  Bastions — The  Inspired  Hill. 

In  1888 — he  was  then  twenty-six — the  young 
Lorrainer  Maurice  Barrfes  astonished  Paris  as 
the  high  priest  of  a  new  cult — "  le  culte  du  Moi  ' 

216 


MAURICE  BARR£S 


(Ego- worship).  Such  is  the  collective  title  of 
his  first  three  novels,  Under  the  Eyes  of  the 
Barbarians,  A  Free  Man,  The  Garden  of  Bere- 
nice. Novels  ?  It  is  impossible  to  tag  any 
label  on  these  strange  concoctions,  which  the 
author  himself  calls  "  ideologies."  A  minimum 
of  fact,  a  certain  element  of  psycho-picturesque 
description,  symbols,  reflections,  meditations — 
a  farrago  of  Ignatius  de  Loyola,  Stendhal,  Heine, 
and  not  a  few  others :  the  result  is  wilful,  absurd, 
exasperating  to  a  degree,  yet  with  undeniable 
powers  of  fascination.  It  belongs  to  that  eso- 
teric literature  which  is  so  dear  to  very  young 
people.  The  element  of  conscious  mystification 
is  not  lacking  either — as  in  the  symbolic  poetry 
of  Mallarme,  the  Rosicrucian  revival  of  Sar 
Josephin  P^ladan,  or,  in  more  recent  years, 
Post  -  Impressionist  Art.  Maurice  Barres  be- 
came a  power  among  a  widening  circle  of  ini- 
tiated. But  there  was  sense  and  energy  in  the 
man,  in  spite  of  his  affectations.  His  "  culte  du 
Moi "  is  no  passive  worship:  it  implies  the  culti- 
vation as  well  as  the  adoration  of  the  Ego.  And, 
different  in  this  respect  from  certain  develop- 
ments of  Nietzscheism,  it  is  made  ethically  pala- 
table through  its  respect  for  other  individuali- 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

ties.  It  is  corrected  by  the  Kantian  reverence 
for  human  personality,  or  simply  by  the  golden 
rule.  When  translated  into  a  language  under- 
standed  of  the  people,  there  is  nothing  unaccep- 
table in  the  anarchism  of  his  pamphlet  Toute 
licence  sauf  contre  VAmour.  This  flamboyant 
title  might  be  rendered:  "  In  non-essentials, 
liberty;  in  all  things.  Charity." 

The  three  principles  of  Ego-worship  are  quite 
typical,  not  merely  of  Barres,  but  of  a  great  part 
of  French  literature.  "  (i)  We  are  never  so 
happy  as  when  we  are  in  a  state  of  exaltation; 
(2)  The  pleasure  of  exaltation  is  greatly  increased 
through  analysis ;  (3)  Consequently,  we  must  feel 
as  much  as  possible  whilst  analyzing  as  much  as 
possible."  Most  of  us,  I  am  sure,  would  demur 
at  the  minor  premise.  Analysis  seems  to  imply 
the  destruction  rather  than  the  intensification 
of  feeling.  To  be  consciously,  wilfully,  analyti- 
cally passionate  seems  to  us  a  contradiction  in 
terms.  This  was  one  of  the  lessons  that  we 
thought  we  could  accept  at  the  hands  of  that 
arch-analyst,  Bourget.  But  need  this  always 
be  so  ?  Why  should  analysis  destroy  sentiment, 
if  the  sentiment  be  genuine  and  the  analysis 
accurate  ?    To  feel  without  daring  to  consider 

218 


MAURICE  BARRES 


why  is  a  sign  of  intellectual  or  moral  cowardice. 
It  is  of  a  piece  with  the  prudence  of  Don 
Quixote,  who  refrained  from  submitting  a  second 
time  his  pasteboard  helmet  to  the  test  of  his 
sword.  Everything  that  is  worth  feeling  is 
worth  thinking  about.  Nor  is  this  doctrine 
incompatible  with  Bourget's.  Amiel  analyzed 
his  own  infirmity  of  purpose,  and  made  it  in- 
curable; de  Querne,*  Nayrac,t  analyzed  their 
diffidence;  and  it  grew  till  it  wrecked  their  love 
and  their  life;  LarcherJ  analyzed  the  degrading 
passion  that  he  wanted  to  tear  away  from  his 
heart;  and  its  roots  struck  deeper.  In  all  cases, 
analysis  enhances  the  feeling  which  is  submitted 
to  it;  if  the  result  is  lamentable,  the  fault  lies, 
not  with  the  process,  but  with  its  object.  Bring 
analysis  to  bear  upon  faith  instead  of  upon  doubt ; 
and  faith  will  grow  as  doubt  had  grown ;  you  will 
have  Saint  Augustine  or  Saint  Ignatius  instead 
of  Frederic  Amiel.  I  think  I  have  played  con- 
scientiously the  part  of"  Advocatus  Barresii  " :  I 
must  now  confess  that  in  the  third  part  of  his 
trilogy,  The  Garden  of  Berenice,  Barr^s  pulls 
down  much  of  his  own  logical  scaffolding.     Bere- 

*   Un  Crime  d' Amour.  |  La  Terre  Promise. 

X  Mensonges,  Physiologie  de  V Amour  Moderne. 

219 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

nice  is  a  simple  soul,  primitive  and  pure,  in  spite 
of  degrading  experiences,  close  to  nature,  bathed 
in  the  unconscious.  The  poet  recognizes  in  her 
a  force,  a  virtue,  that  his  conscious  analysis, 
unaided,  cannot  attain. 

Before  Barres  found  his  final  way,  his  Ego- 
worship  tempted  him  into  the  dangerous  path 
of  Baudelaire.     To  feel  as  intensely  as  possible, 
yet  with  a  clear,  analytical  brain;  to  consider 
the  world  and  your  own  soul  as  instruments  upon 
which  to  perform  the  most  subtle  symphonies 
of    sensation    and    sentiment — why,   that   leads 
straight  to  the  cold-blooded  perversities  of  The 
Flowers    of    Evil.     And    Barres's    book.    Blood, 
Pleasure,  and  Death,  is  essentially,  in  title  and  in 
treatment,  a  product  of  the  Baudelairian  spirit. 
That  strain  has  never  been  wholly  eliminated 
from  the  thought  of  Maurice  Barres.     In  1903, 
after  an  active  political  life,  and  half  a  dozen 
volumes  which,  in  the  main,  were  strong  and 
wholesome,  he  went  back,  in  Amori  and  Dolori 
Sacrum,  to  the  depraved  romanticism  of  Blood, 
Pleasure,  and  Death.     The  first  and  most  im- 
portant part  of  the  book  is  devoted  to  Venice. 
But   what    Barres   loves   in   that   incomparable 
city  is  the  subtle  fever,  the  morbidity,  the  decay, 
220 


MAURICE  BARRES 


the  delicate  corruption,  which  fill  his  soul  with 
complicated,  and  all  the  more  delicious,  melan- 
choly. The  Barr^s  of  Venice  is  first  cousin  to 
Des  Esseintes,  the  grotesque  hero  of  Huysmans' 
A  Rebours,  for  whom  incipient  putrefaction  and 
deliquescence  had  irresistible  charms.  There 
are  people,  we  are  told,  who  like  their  Roquefort 
green  and  their  venison  high.  We  understand 
that,  after  being  so  nearly  engulfed  in  the  morass 
of  Baudelairianism,  Barr^s  should  have  felt  the 
need  of  a  support,  of  a  discipline  from  without. 
His  "  nationalism,"  after  all,  made  a  man  of 
him. 

In  1889,  Barr^s  was  a  candidate  for  Parlia- 
ment under  the  auspices  of  General  Boulanger. 
He  was  but  twenty-seven,  and  looked  so  much 
younger  that  many  of  his  constituents  took  him 
for  his  own  son.  At  first,  his  fellow  litterateurs* 
thought  that  his  one  desire  was  to  enrich  his 
collection  of  sensations.  And  he  did  play  at 
times  in  Parliament  the  part  of  an  ironist 
detached  from  party  interests.  When  the 
Chamber  voted  to  transfer  to  the  Pantheon  the 
remains  of  a  number  of  Republican  worthies, 
Barr^s  moved  that  the  name  of  Jules  Simon  be 

*  E.g.,  Jules  Lemaltre. 

221 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

added  to  the  list.  Now  that  venerable  fossil 
was  still  sitting  in  the  French  Senate,  claiming 
to  be  alive.  The  Speaker  asked  in  all  serious- 
ness whether  Mr.  Barr^s  wished  to  press  his 
motion.  "  Oh,"  replied  the  young  deputy, 
"  I  am  in  no  particular  hurry.  But  unless 
Jules  Simon  looks  sharp,  there  will  be  no 
room  left  for  him."  Yet  there  was  in  Barres 
a  certain  germ  of  sincerity  and  earnestness, 
which,  I  believe,  has  grown,  until  at  present, 
the  man  must  be  considerably  more  than  half 
sincere. 

The  demagogic  agitation  led  by  General 
Boulanger  was  a  mixture  of  all  primitive  in- 
stincts—  democracy,  revanche,  thirst  for  glory, 
hero-worship.  Barres  sought  in  it  more  than 
an  exciting  game.  As  he  told  us  in  Berenice , 
he  was  aware  of  the  limitations  of  his  cultured 
and  analytical  self:  he  wanted  then  to  enrich  it 
by  a  plunge  into  the  unconscious,  by  communion 
with  the  primitive  soul  of  the  people,  that  soul 
which  Boulanger  embodied  for  a  moment. 
Barres  was  an  active  lieutenant  of  the  popular 
leader,  and  remained  faithful  to  him  in  failure, 
in  exile,  in  death — after  the  General's  senti- 
mental suicide  over  the  tomb  of  his  mistress  at 

222 


MAURICE  BARRES 


Brussels.     Faithful,   but  without  illusion,   even 
as  Chateaubriand  after  1830.     His  hero-worship 
had  not  long  blinded  him.     He  soon  saw  what 
a   mediocre  personage   Boulanger  was — a  man 
without  originality  of  thought,  without  dignity 
of  character,  without  strength  of  purpose,  just 
a  handsome  soldier  with  a  blond  beard  and  a 
black  horse.     We  owe  to  Barres's  political  ex- 
perience two  books  which  unfortunately  purport 
to  be  novels,  The  Appeal  to  the  Soldier  and  Their 
Faces — the  latter  a  description  of  the  Panama 
scandals.     The  fictitious  elements — the  thin  veil 
covering  the  autobiographical  passages,  and  a 
totally   irrelevant   love   affair — could   profitably 
be  removed,  and  then  we  would  have  the  most 
picturesque    and     passionate     memoirs    in    the 
French  language  since  the  days  of  Saint-Simon. 
The  superficial  charm  and  the  hopeless  frivolity 
of  Boulanger,  his  scruples  and  his  weaknesses, 
the  melancholy  of  his  failure,  the  electric  atmos- 
phere of  Parliament,  the  tragedies  of  corruption, 
hatred,  and  fear,  and  especially  the  epic  descrip- 
tion  of   Parisian   crowds,  heaving,  tossing,   and 
foaming  in  their  changing  moods  have  inspired 
Barr^s  with  pages  that  neither  history  nor  litera- 
ture can  well  afford  to  forget.     It  is  an  authentic 

223 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

chronicle  of  our  own  drab  Yesterday,  but  in- 
tense and  vivid  to  a  degree  rarely  equalled  by 
the  best  historical  romances.  Barr^s  has  re- 
mained almost  constantly  in  active  politics 
since  the  time  of  Boulanger's  venture.  After 
taking  a  brilliant  part  in  that  ill-fated  move- 
ment, and  in  the  revenge  of  the  defeated  Bou- 
langists,  the  Panama  agitation,  he  was  one  of 
the  leaders  of  the  Anti-Dreyfusists,  one  of  the 
strongest  opponents  of  the  religious  policy  of 
the  radicals,  one  of  the  protagonists  in  the 
bellicose  revival  of  the  last  decade.  Some  of 
his  political  books,  like  Scenes  and  Doctrines  of 
Nationalism,  or  The  Great  Distress  of  the  Churches 
of  France,  contain  pages  as  perfect  as  the  best  in 
his  purely  literary  works. 

The  Appeal  to  the  Soldier  and  Their  Faces  are 
the  second  and  third  parts  of  a  trilogy  under  the 
collective  title:  The  Romance  of  National  Energy. 
The  first  novel  of  the  series.  The  Uprooted,  has 
proved  to  be  one  of  the  influential  books  pub- 
lished within  the  last  twenty  years.  The  "  Up- 
rooted" (d^racin^s)  are  those  young  men  estranged 
from  their  natural  surroundings  by  moving  to 
Paris;  and,  worse  still,  estranged  from  the  cul- 
ture of  their  race  by  the  cosmopolitan  ideal  of 

224 


MAURICE  BARRES 


such  denationalized  dreamers  as  Kant.*  They 
are  young  trees  that  will  bear  bitter  fruit  or 
none  at  all,  in  an  uncongenial  soil.  The  moral 
of  the  book  is:  "  Back  to  your  province,  which 
has  moulded  your  ancestors  and  yourselves; 
where  you  feel  the  close  kinship  of  field,  wood, 
and  river;  of  church,  castle,  and  cottage;  where 
you  are  in  line  with  an  immemorial  tradi- 
tion !  Root  yourselves  again  into  your  native 
ground." 

The  author  claims  that  this  doctrine  is  a 
natural  development  of  Ego- worship.  He  had 
sought  self-realization  in  cultured  anarchy,  and 
found  it  wanting:  his  Ego  could  not  develop  in 
a  vacuum.  He  had  tried  to  commune  with  the 
popular  soul :  but  without  a  principle  to  guide 
him,  he  found  it  vague  and  shifting.  His  Self 
is  not  isolated  and  autonomous.  It  is  a  part  of 
a  larger  whole.  It  is  determined,  as  Taine  had 
taught,  by  "  race,  surroundings,  and  time."  To 
recognize  these  limitations  implies  no  abdication. 
On  the  contrary,  you  are  never  more  completely 

*  At  the  Lyc6e  of  Nancy,  Barrds  studied  philosophy 
under  Burdeau,  later  on  one  of  the  prominent  statesmen 
of  the  Third  RepubUc,  and  savagely  pilloried  in  The 
Romance  of  National  Energy  under  the  name  of  Bouteiller. 

0  225 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

yourself  than  when  you  bring  to  consciousness 
the  obscure  forces  at  work  within  you.  By  so 
doing,  you  follow  the  cardinal  precept  of  Ego- 
worship  :  to  feel  as  much  as  possible  whilst 
analyzing  as  much  as  possible.  To  feel  as  much 
as  possible:  this  you  achieve  through  commun- 
ion with  like-minded  people  and  in  the  most 
favourable  surroundings.  Deep  is  the  sombre 
joy  of  spiritual  isolation,  enhanced  by  the 
physical  presence  of  a  hostile  crowd;  deeper 
still,  and  more  lasting,  is  the  consciousness  of 
harmony,  of  fellowship  in  time  and  space.  Why 
do  we  congregate  to  pray  according  to  ancient 
rituals,  whilst  the  question  is  to  save  our  own 
individual  soul  ?  Enlightened  individualism 
must  transcend  Self.  Thus  Ego-worship  leads 
to  Nationalism,  and  Nationalism  is  defined  as 
"  the  acceptation  of  a  determinism,  the  two 
principal  terms  of  which  are  *  la  terre  et  les 
morts  '  (the  soil  and  the  dead)." 

We  may  doubt  the  cogency  of  Barres's  argu- 
ments :  we  cannot  deny  the  tonic  effect  that  his 
"  nationalism  "  has  had  on  his  life  and  on  his 
art.  Let  us  be  thankful  that  he  did  rise  from 
the  esoteric  subtleties  of  Under  the  Eyes  of  the 
Barbarians   and    the   decaying   romanticism   of 

226 


MAURICE  BARRES 


Blood,  Pleasure,  and  Death,  to  the  classic  purity 
and  strength  of  The  Eastern  Bastions. 

The  Eastern  Bastions  of  French  culture  are 
Alsace  and  Lorraine.  Barr^s  studies  the  pro- 
blems of  the  two  annexed  provinces  in  those 
admirable  novels :  In  the  German  Service  and 
Colette  Baudoche.  Life  under  a  foreign  yoke  is 
a  constant  humiliation  and  a  constant  tempta- 
tion. It  were  so  easy  to  renounce  one's  sen- 
timental traditions,  and  to  pass  over  to  the 
conquerors,  ever  ready  with  their  bribes  ! 
Alsatians  and  Lorrainers  have  to  choose  between 
the  outward  humiliation  and  discomfort  of 
remaining  among  the  conquered,  and  the  inner 
humiliation  of  disowning  their  own  past.  Ehrich 
is  a  young  Strasbourg  burgher;  he  might,  like 
so  many  of  his  cousins,  have  crossed  the  frontier 
and  served  in  the  French  Army.  But  he  feels 
that  his  duty  to  Alsace  and  to  French  culture 
is  to  remain  at  home,  a  rock  of  resistance 
against  German  encroachments.  And,  in  the 
German  Army,  his  duty  as  an  Alsatian  is  to  be 
a  good  soldier,  to  compel  the  respect  of  his 
officers  and  comrades,  whilst  making  it  plain 
that,  under  the  yoke,  he  remains  unconquered. 
Where  is   Ehrich  to-day  ?     Did  he  manage  to 

227 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

escape  before  the  declaration  of  war?  Was  he 
shot,  Hke  other  Alsatian  notables,  in  the  first  few 
weeks  of  the  conflict  ?  Or  is  he  compelled  to 
serve  against  the  friends  and  allies  of  his  French 
brothers  ?  I  hope  Barres  will  give  us  some 
day  the  tragic  sequel  of  Ehrich's  career  "  in  the 
German  Service."  Colette  Baudoche  is  a  humble 
young  girl  of  Metz.  A  Prussian  Doctor  of 
Philosophy  and  High  School  teacher  rents  a 
room  in  her  home.  He  is  kindly,  although 
pedantic  and  somewhat  uncouth.  He  falls  in 
love  with  the  French  girl,  so  refined  in  her 
simplicity.  He  breaks  for  her  sake  his  engage- 
ment with  the  superb  Brunhild  who  is  waiting 
for  him  in  far-off  Koenigsberg.  Colette  respects 
him  and  likes  him — not  without  a  touch  of 
amusement.  But  she  attends  a  Mass  for  the 
Dead  at  the  Cathedral — the  great  ceremony 
through  which  the  French  element  expresses  its 
loyalty  to  its  past.  She  cannot  break  with  her 
people  and  her  tradition.  She  refuses  the 
German  Professor. 

Both  novels  are  composed  and  written  with 
classical  simplicity.  They  are  absolutely  free 
from  sentimental  clap-trap.  The  author  re- 
cognizes frankly  that  Alsace-Lorraine  prospered 

228 


MAURICE  BARRfiS 


under  the  efficient  rule  of  Germany.  The  con- 
querors are  not  uniformly  presented  as  vulgar- 
ians, gluttons,  pedants,  and  swashbucklers.  The 
problem  is  ethical,  unaffected  by  material  con- 
siderations. It  is  a  problem  that  the  English- 
speaking  nations  might  do  well  to  ponder  upon. 
Because  they  have  never  gone  through  the  same 
harrowing  experience,  they  do  not  realize  what 
it  means  to  be  a  conquered  people — even  though 
the  conquerors  were  as  efficient  as  the  Germans, 
as  just  as  the  English,  as  good-natured  as  the 
Americans.  No  amount  of  good  government 
can  make  up  to  a  nation  for  any  loss  in  her 
spiritual  heritage.  Independence  may  become 
a  mere  farce  under  the  petty  tyranny  of  native 
politicians:  yet  it  does  not  allow  the  people's 
soul  to  be  crushed  or  warped  as  it  is  under  the 
best  foreign  domination.  We  wonder  at  the 
ingratitude  of  the  Egyptians  and  the  Filipinos, 
who  never  were  so  well  administered  as  under 
England's  or  America's  rule.  We  fail  to  under- 
stand their  reply :  "  We  do  not  ask  you  to  govern 
us  well:  we  want  you  to  leave  us  alone."  This 
ever-rankling  wound  of  the  conquest  is  felt  more 
bitterly  by  a  proud  population  like  that  of 
Alsace-Lorraine,  who  still  cherishes  a  belief  in 

229 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

the  superiority  of  its  French  culture.  But  it 
would  be  a  great  mistake  to  imagine  that  our 
Asiatic  and  African  brothers  do  not  feel  it  in 
their  own  way.  Imperialism  would  assume  a 
new  complexion,  if  the  self-satisfied  good  people 
at  home  could  experience  in  their  own  souls 
some  of  the  sufferings  inflicted  in  its  name.* 

Barr^s's  art  in  these  two  books  is  seen  at  his 
best,  like  his  thought.  Although  the  characters 
are  symbolical,  they  are  also  simply  and  pro- 
foundly human.  There  is  an  austere  restraint 
in  plot  and  style,  which  might  repel  the  casual 
reader.  Colette  Baudoche  in  particular  is  quiet, 
unobtrusive,  almost  colourless,  like  a  landscape 
of  Lorraine,  or  like  the  eyes  of  the  heroine. 
To  the  initiated,  this  simplicity  recalls  the 
tragedies  of  Racine,  whilst  the  spirit  is  that  of 
Corneille. 

The  last  book  of  Barr^s  in  narrative  form — 
it  can  hardly  be  called  a  novel — The  Inspired 
Hill,  is  one  of  the  strangest  and  most  fascinating 
in  modern  French  literature.  It  tells  the  true 
story  of  three  brothers,  the  Baillards,  who  all 
became  Catholic  priests.     The  eldest,  Leopold, 

*  Yet  dismembered  France  annexed  more  territories 
after  1871  than  any  other  nation  except  England. 

230 


MAURICE  BARRES 


was  a  man  of  boundless  ambition  and  devouring 
energy.  He  revived  an  ancient  pilgrimage  on 
the  "  sacred  hill  "  of  Lorraine,  the  Abbey  of 
Sion-Vaudemont.  He  extended  his  influence  to 
Ste.-Odile  in  Alsace.  But  his  undertakings  came 
to  grief;  his  superiors  had  never  fully  approved 
of  his  spirit  and  methods  even  in  the  hour  of 
success;  when  he  failed,  he  was  severely  cen- 
sured and  reduced  to  the  small  parish  of  Saxon, 
near  Sion.  The  proud  man  and  his  small  band 
of  fanatics  cannot  accept  their  downfall.  We 
are  in  1850:  France  is  still  feverish  with  wild 
Messianic  dreams.  The  Baillards,  estranged  at 
heart  from  the  Roman  Church,  as  Lamennais 
had  been  in  the  preceding  generation,  fall  under 
the  influence  of  a  mystagogue,  one  of  the  in- 
numerable prophets  of  those  stormy  days,  Vin- 
tras.  They  start  a  small  Church  of  the  new 
Christianity  on  the  hill  of  Sion.  Devotion  they 
have,  enough  and  to  spare;  and,  in  their  madness, 
some  indelible  traces  of  peasant  common  sense. 
Their  prestige  is  still  great  in  that  countryside, 
where  they  have  been  spiritual  leaders,  creators 
of  prosperity,  almost  feudal  lords.  Yet  they 
cannot  defy  the  forces  of  Universal  Rome.  The 
new  government,  the  Second  Empire,  is  for  the 

231 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

first  few  years  of  its  history  a  repressive  auto- 
cracy, closely  allied  with  the  Church.  The  Bail- 
lards  are  defeated  once  more.  The  little  band 
is  driven  from  its  stronghold,  dispersed;  the 
heroes  of  that  strange  episode  live  on,  obscurely, 
for  many  years — Leopold  as  late  as  1883.  To 
all  outward  appearances,  they  are  harmless  and 
commonplace  enough:  at  heart,  they  are  seers 
still,  burning  with  prophetic  flames.  On  his 
death-bed,  Leopold  is  at  last  reconciled  with  the 
Church. 

Whoever  seeks  in  a  French  yellow-back  naught 
but  sparkling  frivolity  had  better  eschew  this 
book,  captivating  but  austere.  As  a  study  of 
the  unbalanced  and  millennarian  "  generation 
of  '48,"  it  is  of  surpassing  interest.  Never 
had  Barrfes  shown  greater  qualities  of  minute 
realism,  shot  through  with  poetry.  The  humble 
life  of  the  little  community  at  Sion,  with  all  its 
petty  material  difficulties,  and  yet  with  a  door 
ever  open  on  the  mysterious  Beyond;  the  local 
and  historical  atmosphere ;  the  subtle  differences 
between  the  characters,  their  interaction,  their 
evolution :  all  that  is  rendered  with  a  wealth  of 
sympathy  and  humour  wellnigh  unique  among 
recent  productions.     Most   important  of  all   is 

232 


MAURICE  BARRES 


the  symbolism  of  the  book,  the  great  problem 
which  it  represents  to  the  mind  of  a  "  national- 
ist." Sion-Vaud^mont  is  a  natural  place  of 
worship.  It  antedates  Lorraine,  France,  Gaul, 
and  perhaps  Christianity  itself.  We  all  have 
felt,  on  the  height  of  some  noble  hill,  with  an 
inimitable  expanse  at  our  feet,  that  this  was  the 
place  to  pray.  Had  we  been  born  of  the  soil, 
had  we  grown  within  the  shadow  of  that  hill, 
how  much  more  would  it  mean  to  us  !  Countless 
generations  have  prayed  at  Sion-Vaudemont. 
But  to  whom  ?  Spontaneous  religion  is  both 
vaguely  universal  and  intensely  local.  The 
spirit  of  Sion-Vaud^mont  is  not  Roman  Catholic. 
The  Baillards,  who  yield  to  its  influence,  are 
slowly  driven  to  a  schism,  to  the  creation  of  an 
autonomous  sanctuary.  Barrfes,  the  nationalist, 
the  prophet  of  "  the  soil  and  the  dead,"  cannot 
conceal  his  sympathy  for  them.  How  could  he 
defend  a  Church  which  is  based  on  Jewish  tradi- 
tions, Greek  theology,  Roman  imperialism — a 
Church  catholic  in  scope,  and  governed  by 
Italians  ?  Thorough-going  Germanists  have 
advocated  a  return  to  Odin-worship :  this  is  the 
logical  outcome  of  nationalism.  Catholicism 
claims  to  rise  superior  to  "race,  surroundings, 

233 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


and    time  ";    to    borrow    Barres's    phraseology, 
Catholicism  is  the  great  uprooter. 

The  solution  of  this  antinomy  is  found  in 
compromise.  Catholicism  has  accepted  much 
of  the  local  tradition;  and  it  has  become  part 
of  the  life  and  spirit  of  the  place.  But  The 
Inspired  Hill  has  not  said  its  last  word. 


§  2.  The  Doctrine  of  Nationalism  in  Maurice 
Barres. 

The  "soil  and  the  dead  " — "French  truth  "  and  "French 
justice  " — The  French  Norm  and  the  French  Tradi- 
tion— The  three  roots  of  patriotism:  common  interests, 
common  traditions,  common  aspirations. 

We  may  now  consider  the  theory  defended  in 
The  Romance  of  National  Energy  and  in  The 
Eastern  Bastions — the  doctrine  of  nationalism. 
It  were  idle  to  deny  that  this  doctrine  is  attrac- 
tive, and,  within  certain  limits,  convincing. 
The  influence  of  "  the  soil,"  as  Barres  calls  it, 
of  the  early  and  ancestral  surroundings,  may 
easily  be  exaggerated;  but,  great  or  small,  that 
influence  is  a  fact.  However,  such  as  it  is,  it 
serves  as  a  justification  for  local  patriotism,  for 
provincialism,  rather  than  for  nationalism.     The 

234 


MAURICE  BARRES 


best  pages  perhaps  of  Maurice  Barr^s  have  been 
inspired  by  the  valley  of  the  Moselle.  That 
valley  is  half-German,  half- French.  A  man 
from  Metz,  moulded  by  its  landscape,  its  climate, 
its  economic  conditions,  would  naturally  be  akin 
to  a  man  of  Treves:  but  "  the  soil  "  does  not 
make  him  the  brother  of  a  Basque,  a  Breton  or  a 
Provencal.  You  will  not  have  to  scratch  the 
nationalism  of  Barres  very  deep  before  you  find 
regionalism  pure  and  simple — devotion  to  Lor- 
raine rather  than  to  France:  this  is  visible  in 
his  anti-Southern  pamphlet.  Cracks  in  the  House. 
We  have  no  objection  to  regionalism:  it  is  a 
legitimate  and  an  inspiring  sentiment.  But 
patriots  and  cosmopolitans  agree  that  regional- 
ism, in  case  of  conflict,  should  yield  to  the  wider 
allegiance — national  or  universal.  It  is  cer- 
tainly not  for  regionalism,  for  the  defence  of  the 
small  province  in  which  they  were  born,  that 
the  sons  of  Canada  and  Australasia  are  fighting 
in  Flanders  or  in  the  Eastern  Mediterranean. 
The  true  basis  of  nationalism  cannot  therefore 
be  geographical:  it  must  be  cultural.  And,  for- 
tunately, the  culture  of  Maurice  Barres  is  not 
provincial. 

"  The  Dead  1"     Barres  means  that  we  should 

235 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

follow  in  our  fathers'  footsteps.  This  would  be 
easier  if  mankind  were  going  back  instead  of 
forward.  As  it  is,  our  fathers'  footsteps  have 
led  us  just  where  we  are,  and  lead  us  no  farther. 
Beyond,  it  is  for  us  to  open  up  a  new  road. 
Shall  we  say  that  their  evolution  projects  itself 
beyond  them  and  beyond  us,  traces  the  one  line 
from  which  we  cannot  swerve  ?  But  this  is 
contrary  to  facts.  Mankind  is  for  ever  at  the 
cross-roads.  Life  is  infinitely  varied,  and  our 
ancestors  had  in  them  all  human  possibilities. 
Some  of  these  possibilities  have  developed  better 
than  others  in  the  past:  hence  we  have  formed 
the  conception  of  a  certain  French  type,  in  which 
these  characters  are  predominant,  and  which 
Barr^s  would  have  us  take  as  our  pattern.  Why 
should  we  ?  Traits  of  minor  importance  in  our 
grandfathers  may  become  the  most  important  of 
all  in  ourselves.  An  American  adviser  is  at 
present  telling  the  Chinese  that  it  is  unwise  for 
them  to  change,  since  their  tradition  proves 
them  unchangeable.  But  the  very  desire  for 
reform  evinced  by  some  Chinamen  is  proof  posi- 
tive that  Chinamen  can  change:  and  if  some, 
why  not  many  ?  When  Pascal  was  writing  his 
supremest  Thoughts,  should  he  have  reminded 
236 


MAURICE  BARR£S 


himself  that  he  had  better  leave  the  subject 
alone,  since  he  did  not  belong  to  a  mystic  race  ? 
Should  the  Germans  of  yesterday  have  been 
deterred  in  their  efforts  by  the  reflection:  "  We 
are  metaphysicians,  musicians,  poets,  dreamers, 
but  not  practical  men :  what  is  the  use  of  our 
attempting  to  form  a  strong,  united,  prosperous 
nation  ?"  Should  an  American  that  feels  music 
within  his  heart  check  the  impulse  and  say : 
"  My  heredity  is  against  it;  mine  is  not  a  musical 
people;  therefore  I  must  remain  for  ever  in  self- 
imposed  tone-deafness,  or  be  satisfied  with  rag- 
time played  on  a  gramophone  ?"  Monsieur 
Lacarelle,  says  Anatole  France,  possessed  a  pair 
of  moustaches  which,  after  determining  his  phy- 
siognomy, had  also  determined  his  character. 
He  looked  like  an  ancient  Gallic  chief.  Now, 
excessive  devotion  to  the  fair  sex  is  part  and 
parcel  of  Gallic  tradition.  M.  Lacarelle  felt 
himself  in  duty  bound  to  make  love  to  all  women. 
"  The  Soil  and  the  Dead  !" 

The  truth  is  that,  individuals  as  well  as  nations, 
we  never  know  what  we  are,  we  never  know 
what  we  can  do,  until  we  try.  We  may  not  be 
able  to  go  beyond  the  achievements  of  our 
ancestors.      But    we    may   be    the    discoverers 

237 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


of  unsuspected  treasures  in  the  national  soul. 
Of  course,  we  must  accept  our  limitations.  We 
cannot  hope  to  grow  wings  like  birds,  or  add  a 
cubit  to  our  stature.  We  are  without  doubt 
determined  to  a  very  great  extent  by  pre- 
existing conditions,  and  chiefly  by  early  sur- 
roundings. But,  just  because  these  limitations 
are  inevitable  facts,  there  is  no  need  for  us  to 
worry  overmuch  about  them.  They  will  assert 
themselves  without  our  consent.  Either  the 
doctrine  preached  by  Barres,  "  the  acceptation 
of  a  determinism,"  is  false  and  dangerous,  for  it 
might  deprive  us  of  a  chance  of  improving  our- 
selves; or,  if  it  is  true,  it  is  profoundly  useless. 
Margaret  Fuller  said — with  what  New  England 
and  transcendental  impressiveness  we  may 
easily  imagine :  "  I  accept  the  Universe."  When 
these  words  were  reported  to  Carlyle,  the  sage 
commented :"  Gad  !  She  had  better."  We  are 
not  called  upon  to  accept  the  inevitable:  our 
duty  is  to  find  out  for  ourselves  what  is  inevi- 
table, and  what  is  not. 

Nationalism,  "  the  acceptation  of  a  deter- 
minism," "  obedience  to  our  guides,  the  soil  and 
the  dead,"  is,  in  the  mind  of  Barres,  not  a  doc- 
trine of  pride,  but  a  doctrine  of  modesty.     Let 

238 


MAURICE  BARRES 


us  be  French,  and  nothing  but  French :  not 
because  France  is  superior  to  all  other  nations, 
but  because  we  are  French,  and  cannot  tran- 
scend our  own  nature.  The  Moselle  is  not  the 
sacred  Ganges,  and  Racine  is  not  Shakespeare. 
But  they  are  ours,  and  of  greater  things  we  could 
have  but  an  unconvincing  imitation.  I  do  not 
like  this  excessive  modesty.  It  may  be  less 
dangerous  to  the  peace  of  the  world  than  the 
assertiveness  of  the  younger  nations:  but  it 
would  seem  to  me,  if  it  were  sincere,  a  sign  of 
fatigue,  of  old  age,  of  decadence.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  it  is  not  even  half-sincere  in  Barr^s  him- 
self. In  the  other  French  nationalists,  pride  is 
as  unbounded  as  among  their  German  congeners. 
The  doctrine  of  resignation:  "  Let  us  be  content 
to  be  French,  for  if  we  attempt  to  be  anything 
else,  we  are  doomed  to  inferiority,"  becomes: 
"  Let  us  be  French,  exclusively  French :  there  is 
nothing  better  under  the  sun." 

Like  all  other  masterpieces,  be  they  the  work 
of  nature  or  of  art,  French  culture,  in  order  to 
be  fully  appreciated,  must  be  looked  at  from  a 
definite  point  of  view,  whence  all  its  elements 
are  seen  in  their  right  perspective  and  with  their 
true  proportions.     This  exact  point  is  what  the 

239 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

Barresians  call  "  French  Truth."  Whoso  fails 
to  reach  it  remains  an  alien,  a  barbarian.  In  the 
same  spirit,  Barr^s  and  his  friends,  at  the  time 
of  the  Dreyfus  case,  elaborated  the  theory  of 
"  French  Justice."  From  the  point  of  view  of 
abstract  justice,  if  universal  principles  alone 
were  considered,  Dreyfus  may  have  been  inno- 
cent. But  we  have  outgrown  the  shallow  cosmo- 
politanism of  the  eighteenth  century.  From 
the  point  of  view  of  "French  Justice  "  (i.e., 
Nationalism),  Dreyfus  was  guilty.  The  humani- 
tarians, the  "  intellectuals,"  the  judges  who 
reversed  the  verdict,  were  un-French,  anti- 
French. 

The  fallacy  is  obvious.  It  consists  in  the 
confusion  of  history  with  ethics.  If  you  want 
to  understand  the  motives  of  your  ancestors,  it 
is  necessary  that  you  place  yourselves,  for  the 
time  being,  in  their  position.  "  To  understand 
is  to  forgive,"  said  Renan.  But  to  forgive  is  not 
to  condone.  Even  though  the  historian  should 
see  fit  to  abdicate  his  right  of  judgment,  the 
moralist  and  the  political  philosopher  cannot  do 
so  without  stultifying  themselves.  Our  point 
of  view,  for  example,  is  widely  different  from 
that  of  our  medieval  forefathers.     Undoubtedly 

240 


MAURICE  BARRfeS 


Michelet's  poetic  sympathy  is  infinitely  more 
valuable  as  an  historical  method  than  Voltaire's 
irony,  so  incomprehensive  in  its  superficial 
cleverness.  But  the  greatest  treasures  of  sym- 
pathy cannot  make  the  cosmogony  of  the  Middle 
Ages  tally  with  the  facts  as  we  know  them  at 
present.  Voltaire  may  be  disqualified  as  an 
historian:  that  does  not  prevent  many  of  his 
ideas  from  being  right  in  themselves — at  least 
as  far  as  we  know.  I  am  trying  hard  to  under- 
stand the  Prussian  Junker,  the  Pan-Germanist 
Professor,  the  Barr^sian  nationalist ;  I  may  come 
to  "  forgive  "  them,  to  admire  them,  possibly 
to  like  them — but  agree  with  them  ? — God 
forbid  1 

What  Barr^s  calls  French  truth,  I  should  like 
to  call  French  aberration.  I  take  the  term  in 
the  sense  it  has  in  optics — a  purely  physical 
cause  of  error.  So  long  as  it  is  not  wilful,  there 
is  no  reason  why  it  should  rouse  our  contempt 
or  our  indignation.  Neither  should  we  ignore 
it,  or  fail  to  determine  it  with  the  utmost  preci- 
sion. It  was  the  great  mistake  of  eighteenth- 
century  philosophers  to  reason  as  though  all 
men — including  themselves — were  free  from  such 
causes  of  error.  A  frankly  nationalistic  writer 
R  241 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

is  more  innocuous  than  one  who  is  uncon- 
sciously imbued  with  national  prejudices.  In 
the  latter  case,  the  aberration  is  much  harder 
to  detect.  "  Nationalism  "  is  therefore  a  factor 
that  we  cannot  afford  to  neglect  in  our  search 
for  truth:  but  it  is  a  factor  to  be  discounted, 
guarded  against,  and  not  Truth  itself. 

For  the  sake  of  argument,  I  have  accepted 
Barr^s's  contention  that  there  is  a  French  type, 
a  French  tradition,  a  French  truth.  But  this 
is  open  to  question.  At  present,  it  is  under- 
stood that  "  integral  nationalism,"  or  French 
truth  in  its  fulness,  implies  three  terms — 
classicism,  monarchy,  Catholicism.  This  we 
were  told  dogmatically  by  Charles  Maurras  and 
L' Action  Francaise.  Paul  Bourget  followed  suit ; 
so  did  Jules  Lemaitre.  Maurice  Barr^s,  it  must 
be  said,  is  much  broader  than  his  friends.  Al- 
though converted  to  classicism,  he  wants  roman- 
ticism to  rally  the  main  column,  "  flying  still  its 
own  glorious  banners."  He  embraces  in  his 
sympathy  the  France  of  Joan  of  Arc,  the  France 
of  Louis  XIV.,  the  France  of  Danton,  the  France 
of  Bonaparte.  At  the  death-bed  of  Jaurfes,  he 
confessed  that  he  loved  the  great  Internation- 
alist whom  he  had  so  long  and  so  bitterly  com- 

242 


MAURICE  BARR^S 


bated.  Yet  "  traditionalism  "  would  have  no 
meaning  if  it  did  not  denote  a  definite  set  of 
traditions.  And,  on  the  whole,  Barres  accepts 
two  terms  at  least  of  the  nationalistic  trinity — 
classicism  and  Catholicism.* 

Classicism  and  Catholicism  !  A  strange  con- 
ception of  traditionalism  that  would  rule  out  of 
the  French  tradition  Voltaire  and  Victor  Hugo  I 
The  precarious  harmony  between  classicism, 
absolute  monarchy,  and  Catholicism  was  attained 
about  1660,  and  preserved  for  less  than  half  a 
century.  The  eighteenth  century  was  classical, 
and  increasingly  anticatholic.  The  Revolution 
was  intensely  classical  in  taste  and  spirit.  The 
Romanticists  were  all  Catholics  and  Monarch- 
ists. Where  is  your  single,  harmonious,  com- 
pelling tradition  ? 

Taine  has  attempted   to  prove  that   France 

•  Although  a  friend  and  outspoken  admirer  of  Bourget 
and  Maurras,  he  preserves  towards  the  RoyaUsts  an 
attitude  of  "  benevolent  neutrality."  For  his  religious 
opinions  cf.  For  our  Churches  and  The  Great  Distress  oj 
the  Churches  in  France.  He  is  not  a  Christian.  Neither 
is  Maurras.  It  is  possible  for  those  traditionalists  to 
defend  Catholicism  without  believing  in  God.  I  have 
known  Oxford  men  whose  faith  was  compounded,  in 
equal  parts,  of  Herbert  Spencer  and  the  Thirty-Nine 
Articles. 

243 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

went  logic-mad  in  the  eighteenth  century. 
Rousseauism,  the  Rights  of  Man,  were  symptoms 
of  a  disease,  which  has  nearly  ruined  the  ancient 
body  of  the  French  nation.  Yet,  in  131 5,  a 
royal  ordinance  of  Louis  X.,  freeing  all  the  serfs 
in  the  King's  domains,  affirmed  that  "  according 
to  the  law  of  nature  every  man  should  be  born 
free."  The  law  of  nature,  liberty  and  equality, 
five  centuries  before  the  Revolution  !  And  the 
bold  utterances  of  Jehan  de  Meung  in  the 
Roman  de  la  Rose!  From  the  Middle  Ages 
to  the  present  day,  in  political  life  and  in  litera- 
ture, there  is  an  uninterrupted  current  of  free- 
thought  and  democracy.  I  do  not  claim  that  it 
was  at  all  periods,  or  until  recent  times,  the 
main  stream:  but,  half-hidden  from  sight,  it 
went  on  its  way.  Your  beautiful  doctrine  of 
"  acceptation,"  like  the  kindred  doctrines  of 
resignation  and  obedience,  resolves  itself  in 
practice  to  this:  "  My  ideal  is  true,  and  the 
sooner  you  accept  it,  the  better.  It  is  true, 
because  it  is  the  traditional  ideal  of  our  nation." 
To  which  may  be  replied:  "There  are  many 
strains  in  French  tradition  —  rationalism  and 
cosmopolitanism  are  found  in  it  too.  I  do  not 
like  the  particular  strain  that  you  have  selected 
244 


MAURICE  BARRfiS 


and  are  attempting  to  impose  upon  us  to  the 
exclusion  of  all  others.  Even  if  tradition  were 
as  simple  and  rectilinear  as  you  affect  to  believe, 
it  would  be  but  part  of  the  material  with 
which  I  mean  to  mould  my  destiny.  Parts  of 
that  tradition  I  shall  ignore;  others  will  be  a 
help;  others  a  hindrance.  The  tradition  that 
I  in  my  turn  shall  hand  down  to  my  son 
will  be  different  from  the  one  I  have  received 
from  my  father.  Else  I  should  have  lived  in 
vain." 

We  believe  that  "  the  soil  and  the  dead  " 
form  an  insufficient  basis  for  nationalism.  The 
mere  fact  of  cohabitation  in  the  same  territory 
and  under  the  same  laws — let  us  say  in  my  own 
State,  Texas — whatever  may  be  our  race,  our 
religion,  our  native  language,  our  cultural  pre- 
ferences, creates  from  the  first  certain  practical 
duties,  which  may  be  grouped  under  the  general 
term  of  good  citizenship.  These  duties  are  not 
rooted  in  sentiment,  but  in  necessity.  Whether 
you  love  the  land  or  not,  it  is  your  interest  that 
order  be  preserved  and  good  roads  be  main- 
tained. Tradition — the  love  for  our  fathers' 
home,  for  their  language,  their  faith,  and  even 
the  form  of  their  faith,  for  the  heroes  of  a  certain 

245 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

history — this  is  another  bond  of  union,  fully  as 
real,  fully  as  strong  as  the  first,  but  of  a  totally 
different  nature.  It  is  a  sacred  sentiment,  which, 
on  account  of  its  very  sacredness,  can  neither  be 
imposed  nor  taken  away  by  force.  An  Alsatian 
may  become  a  law-abiding  German  citizen,  in- 
terested in  the  good  government  and  prosperity 
of  the  nation  of  which  his  province  has  become 
a  part :  you  cannot  expect  his  heart  to  swell  with 
pride  and  joy  on  the  anniversaries  of  Rossbach 
and  Sedan.  This  kind  of  traditional  and  cultural 
patriotism  is  a  sort  of  religion,  and  should  be 
left  as  free  as  any  religion.  Thus  the  Union  does 
not  suffer  from  the  loyalty  of  the  South  to  its 
own  past;  thus  Boers  and  Habitants  are  happy 
under  the  British  flag.  There  may  be  conver- 
sions from  one  set  of  traditions  to  another: 
Alsace  was  undoubtedly  Germanic  at  heart  long 
after  it  had  become  a  possession  of  the  French 
King ;  and  she  felt  herself  fully  French  only  after 
she  had  been  reborn,  with  the  rest  of  France, 
into  the  modern  world  inaugurated  by  the  Revo- 
lution. But  such  conversions  should  remain 
absolutely  spontaneous.  A  third  bond  of  union, 
nobler  than  cohabitation,  nobler  even  than 
common  traditions,  is  the  possession  of  a  com- 
246 


MAURICE  BARRES 


mon  Ideal.    This  it  is  that  makes  Americans  of 
us  all. 

But  who  can  fail  to  see  that  the  ideals  of  all 
modern  nations  are  substantially  the  same,  that 
they  are  converging  towards  one  goal  of  fra- 
ternal justice  ?  Nationalism,  in  a  democracy, 
is  but  an  avenue  to  internationalism.  We  love 
America,  as  the  best  Frenchmen  love  France 
and  the  best  Germans  love  Germany,  because 
America,  France,  Germany  are  servants  of  the 
universal  ideal.  To  identify  this  ideal  with 
special  forms  of  culture,  noble  in  themselves,  no 
doubt,  and  worthy  of  our  passionate  devotion, 
is  a  grievous  mistake.  Truth  is  truth,  whether 
Bacon,  Descartes,  or  Kant  expressed  it.  To 
attempt  to  defend  or  spread  by  force  that  which 
is  essentially  beyond  the  realm  of  force,  is  the 
root  of  the  present  evil.  And  it  is  because 
Barr^s  has  sought  to  narrow  down  the  ideal  of 
France  from  the  service  of  mankind  to  the  cult 
of  an  incomplete  and  local  tradition  that  his 
work,  on  the  whole,  is  not  good.  A  Lorrainer, 
hypnotized  by  the  tragic  memories  of  1870,  he 
has  mutilated  his  soul.  Let  us  hope  that  after 
this  war  France  will  abandon  the  bypath  of 
Barr^sian    nationalism    for    the    high    road    of 

247 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


humanitarianism,  a  road  on  which  she  will  meet 
her  sister,  the  Germany  of  Kant.* 

*  A  striking  instance  of  the  "  nationalistic  aberration  ": 
Maurice  Barr^s  had  been  one  of  the  most  fervent  among 
the  French  admirers  of  Wagner.  His  name  was  found 
year  after  year  on  the  registers  of  Bayreuth.  At  present, 
he  is  endorsing  a  demand  for  banishing  Wagner  from  the 
French  stage. 


48 


CHAPTER  VII 
ROMAIN    ROLLAND 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ROMAIN  ROLLAND. 

Jean-Christophe,  cyclopean  and  multitudinous, 
is  now  established  as  one  of  the  world's  classics. 
Our  young  century  has  produced  no  work  that 
compares  with  it  in  bulk,  in  ambition,  in  breadth 
of  culture,  in  wealth  of  sympathy.  It  is  the 
life-story  of  a  powerful  personality,  painfully 
emerging  from  the  slime,  conquering  the  sneer- 
ing world  without,  taming  the  beast  within; 
it  is  the  biography  of  a  musician — one  might 
say  the  romance  or  the  epic  of  Music — a  huge 
symphony  in  which  the  praise  of  Music,  the 
prophetess,  the  comforter,  recurs  as  a  constant 
leitmotiv;  it  is  the  portrait  and  testament  of  a 
generation ;  it  is  a  plea  for  the  reconciliation  and 
harmony  of  the  two  leading  "  culture-nations  " 
of  continental  Europe,  France  and  Germany. 
Completed  in  19 12,  it  prophesied  the  present 
war,  and  looked  beyond  it.  When  the  cata- 
clysmic madness  which  now  possesses  our 
brothers  east  and  west  of  the  Vosges  has  sub- 

251 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

sided,  all  good  Europeans  will  eagerly  seek  for 
instruments  and  materials  of  reconstruction; 
and  not  the  least  among  these  will  be  the  hero 
and  the  author  of  that  great  book,  Jean-Chris- 
tophe  and  Romain  Rolland. 


§  I.  Romain  Rolland's  Career. 

Rome — Music — ^The  drama — Biographies — Les   Cahiers   de 
la  Quinzaine. 

Romain  Rolland  is  not  a  professional  writer, 
still  less  a  professional  novelist.  He  is  an  his- 
torian by  training,  and  a  passionate  lover  of 
music.  Born  in  1868  at  Clamecy  in  Central 
France,  he  went  through  that  glorious  "  Ecole 
Normale  Superieure  "  in  Paris  which,  fenced 
round  with  a  formidable  wall  of  competitive 
examinations,  boasting  of  an  unrivalled  roll  of 
teachers  and  alumni,  is  one  of  the  impregnable 
fortresses  of  French  culture.  He  took  his  degree 
of  "  Agr6ge  "  in  history,  and  was  then  sent  to 
the  French  School  of  Art  and  Archaeology  in 
Rome.  There,  in  the  most  cosmopolitan  of  all 
capitals,  be  became  a  true  European,  at  home 
in  the  language  and  thought  of  Latin  and  Teuton 
alike.     He  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of  art, 

252 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


and  especially  of  music.  His  Doctor's  disser- 
tation, The  Origins  of  the  Modern  Lyrical  Drama, 
was  the  first  thesis  on  a  musical  subject  to  be 
accepted  by  the  Sorbonne.  He  returned  to 
his  Alma  Mater,  the  Superior  Normal  School, 
as  Lecturer  in  the  History  of  Art;  and  a 
chair  of  musical  aesthetics  was  later  created  for 
him  at  the  Sorbonne.  As  a  musical  historian 
and  critic,  his  work  is  considerable.  In  ad- 
dition to  his  thesis,  he  wrote  biographies  of 
Handel  and  Beethoven;  he  gathered  hie  mis- 
cellaneous articles  into  captivating  volumes — 
Musicians  of  Yesterday  and  Musicians  of  To-day; 
and  he  contributed  to  a  German  series  a  study, 
Paris  as  a  Music  Centre,  which,  I  am  sure,  would 
be  a  revelation  to  many  Anglo-American  readers. 
When  the  Dreyfus  crisis  broke  out,  Romain 
Rolland  was  about  thirty  years  old,  A  Uni- 
versity man,  a  cosmopolitan,  an  idealist:  his 
road  was  traced  plainly  enough  for  him;  for  his 
colleagues,  almost  to  a  man,  were  ardent  in  the 
cause  of  justice,  and  all  Europe  beyond  the 
frontiers  of  France  was  in  full  sympathy  with 
them.  We  are  somewhat  puzzled,  therefore, 
to  find  Romain  Rolland  adopting  an  attitude 
of  self-effacing   neutrality.      His  first  duty,  he 

253 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

claimed,  was  to  save  the  light  of  intelligence, 
which  fanatics  on  either  side  were  forgetting  in 
their  quarrels.  The  plea  is  specious.  That 
there  was  blindness,  self-delusion,  fanaticism, 
low  passions  and  sordid  interests  among  Drey- 
fusists  as  well  as  among  anti-Dreyfusists  was 
evident  enough  in  the  eyes  even  of  youthful 
enthusiasts  seventeen  years  ago.  And  the  lam- 
entable attitude  of  many  lost  leaders  after  the 
battle  was  won  has  made  it  clearer  still  that 
the  cause  of  right  may  be  defended  by  unworthy 
men.  I  wonder  if  among  the  angelic  hosts  led 
by  Michael  against  Lucifer  there  were  not  a 
number  of  self-seekers  who  were  wise  enough 
to  pick  out  the  winning  side  ?  Yet  there  was  a 
right  and  a  wrong  in  the  Dreyfus  affair,  as  there  • 
is  a  right  and  a  wrong  in  the  present  conflict. 
And  whoever  shirks  the  responsibility  of  taking 
sides  is  a  Laodicean.  Neutrality  may  be  poli- 
tical wisdom  and  the  only  course  open  to  a 
heterogeneous  nation:  but  surely  it  is  not  the 
highest  duty  of  the  individual.  Our  highest 
duty  is  to  hate  the  sin  and  love  the  sinner.  Now, 
I  do  not  believe  that  Romain  RoUand  was  ever, 
in  his  heart,  a  Laodicean.  No  living  writer  has 
shown  nobler  aspirations,  and  he  has  recently 
254 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


proved  himself  a  man  of  rarest  courage.  But 
his  attitude  during  the  Dreyfus  case  is  the  sign 
of  a  certain  haziness  of  purpose  which  has  left  its 
mark  in  the  pages  of  Jean-Christophe .  Good 
will  he  has,  enough  and  to  spare;  but  will,  clear 
and  straight  ?  Perhaps  not  quite  enough  to 
harmonize  the  clashing  tendencies  of  his  multi- 
farious culture. 

Of  this  good-will,  his  whole  literary  career  is  a 
monument.  It  may  be  said  of  Romain  Rolland 
that  he  has  never  written  a  frivolous  book,  and 
never  stooped  to  the  confection  of  pot-boilers. 
Not  only  does  he  disdain  to  write  for  fun  or  for 
pelf — we  shall  see  under  what  uncommercial 
conditions  Jean-Christophe  and  most  of  his  works 
were  published — but  he  is  almost  Tolstoyan  in 
his  condemnation  of  art  for  art's  sake.  Author- 
ship is  truly  for  him  a  mission,  an  "  apostolate." 
He  wants  to  brush  aside  the  artificial  production 
of  a  self-styled  ^lite — exquisite  at  times,  but 
frankly  decadent.  He  wants  to  reach  the  people, 
to  restore  the  free  communion  that  should  ever 
exist  between  the  primitive,  collective  soul  of 
the  nation,  and  the  small  company  of  true  poets. 
In  this,  and  in  many  aspects  of  his  art  and 
thought,  he  is  indeed  the  disciple  of  our  great 

255 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

democratic  historian,  Michelet.  During  the 
latter  part  of  his  Ufa,  Michelet  was  tormented 
with  the  scruple:  "  What  have  we,  scholars,  men 
of  letters,  done  for  the  people  ?  Have  we  not 
left  them  spiritually  unclothed,  unfed  ?"  The 
personal  and  profound  influence  of  Tolstoy  con- 
firmed in  Romain  Rolland  this  feeling  of  brotherly 
responsibility.     He  has  tried  to  feed  the  people. 

His  first  attempt  was  through  the  drama.  A 
great  admirer  of  Shakespeare,  Romain  Rolland 
had  first  the  ambition  of  reforming  the  French 
stage.  The  drama  is  the  social  form  of  art  par 
excellence.  A  strong,  healthy,  inspiring  national 
drama  is  one  of  the  greatest  assets  that  a 
people  can  possess.  Rolland  dreams  of  some- 
thing utterly  different  from  the  glittering  cynicism 
of  the  society  comedy,  from  the  morbidity  and 
sophistication  of  the  problem  play,  from  the 
childish  clinking  and  clanging  of  the  Romantic 
melodrama,  from  the  frozen  oratory  of  the 
classics — something  simple,  human,  elemental, 
collective,  a  play  merging  into  a  pageant,  in 
which  a  whole  populace  could  be  both  spectators 
and  actors.  A  beautiful  dream  indeed :  it  seems 
to  combine  the  best  features  of  the  Greek  theatre, 
of  the  Passion  Play,  and  of  those  patriotic  festivals 

256 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


in  which  the  Swiss  are  past-masters.  Our  own 
Percy  McKaye  has  conceived  a  similar  ideal — 
a  civic  drama,  ritual  and  pageant,  in  which  he 
sees  a  school  of  citizenship  and  even — God  save 
the  mark  ! — a  substitute  for  the  pomp  and  glory 
of  war.  It  is  easy  enough  for  an  agregi  and 
Sorbonne  professor  to  clamour:  "  Let  us  be 
popular,  let  us  be  spontaneous  !"  But,  from 
preaching  to  practice  there  is  an  abyss.  Romain 
Rolland  has  written  a  number  of  plays,  of  which 
six  only  have  been  gathered  in  his  two  volumes, 
The  Tragedies  of  Faith  and  The  Drama  of  the 
Revolution.  The  latter  alone,  with  its  patriotic 
humanitarianism  a  la  Michelet,  might  fulfil  the 
author's  ambitious  programme.  The  Wolves  is 
a  transposition  of  the  Dreyfus  case  to  a  city  in 
which  a  Republican  army  is  besieged :  a  close- 
knit,  tense,  breathless  drama  of  great  simplicity 
and  power,  but  of  no  popular  appeal.  The  other 
two,  Danton  and  especially  The  Fourteenth  of 
July,  come  nearer  the  ideal  of  a  popular  play. 
Yet,  somehow,  they  fail  of  their  object.  Here, 
as  later  in  Jean-Christophe ,  we  see  a  man  who 
feels — or  wishes  to  feel — like  a  Prometheus,  but 
writes  like  a  professor.  It  is  excellent  literature ; 
but,  alas,  it  is  literature. 

»  2S7 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

Romain  RoUand  made  an  apostolic  effort  in 
another  direction.  Abstract  ideas,  he  thinks, 
may  command  the  enthusiasm  of  a  few :  but  the 
mass  must  have  heroes  to  worship.  It  may- 
seem  unduly  paradoxical  to  challenge  a  state- 
ment, which,  in  many  minds,  has  the  strength 
of  an  axiom :  but  I  have  seen  crowds  swayed  by 
an  anonymous  dream  of  social  upheaval,  know- 
ing all  the  while  that  their  actual  leaders  were 
mediocre  men.  The  soldiers  of  the  Revolution 
performed  more  wonderful  feats  from  1792  to 
1 795  than  the  fanaticized  praetorians  of  Napoleon. 
Romain  Rolland,  taking  for  granted  that  pro- 
pensity to  hero-worship,  wants,  in  his  own 
terms,  "  to  purify  our  atmosphere  with  the 
breath  of  the  heroes."  Well-selected  biographies 
could  be  to  the  modern  man  what  the  Golden 
Legend  was  to  the  Middle  Ages,  or  Plutarch 
to  the  classical  period.  So  he  wrote  the  lives 
of  Michael- Angelo,  Beethoven,  Tolstoy.  But 
although  he  was  an  evangelist  rather  than  an 
historian,  he  was  too  good  a  scholar  and  too 
scrupulous  a  man  to  tell  edifying  lies.  Strength, 
joy,  love :  we  find  in  Michael-Angelo,  in  Bee- 
thoven, in  Tolstoy,  the  trinity  of  great  human 
virtues,  contrasted  or  blending:  but  also  what 

258 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


abysses  of  weakness,  folly,  and  despair  !  The 
impression  left  upon  us  by  the  biography  of 
Michael-Angelo,  in  particular,  is  melancholy  to 
a  degree.  This  Titan  of  Art  struggled  eternally 
against  petty  annoyances,  mostly  of  his  own 
making;  this  master  of  the  brush,  the  chisel 
and  the  pen  bungled  his  own  existence.  Little 
more  cheer  can  be  expected  from  the  lives  of 
Beethoven  and  Tolstoy,  both  so  strangely  sad  at 
the  close.  No  demigods  were  they,  but  suffering 
and  wandering  men.  We  love  them  all  the 
more  for  their  frailties  and  their  sorrows;  all 
the  more  also  do  we  love  the  sensitive,  sym- 
pathetic soul  of  their  biographer ;  but  as  a  tonic 
to  the  people,  these  books  are  worthless. 

Romain  Rolland  was  thus  no  mere  beginner 
when  he  undertook  his  Jean-Christophe.  But 
his  name  was  known  of  very  few,  and  even  these 
thought  of  him  as  distinguished  rather  than 
great.  Jean-Christophe  first  appeared  in  the 
collection  known  as  Les  Cahiers  de  la  Quinzaine 
{The  Notebooks  of  the  Fortnight) ;  and,  as  the  cir- 
cumstances of  its  publication,  the  special  public 
for  which  it  was  meant,  affected  the  character 
of  the  work,  we  must  dwell  for  a  moment  on 
those    curious    Cahiers,       They,   as  well    as    a 

259    , 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

weekly  filled  with  the  same  spirit,  Pages  Litres, 
were  founded  at  the  time  of  the  Dreyfus  case  by 
a  number  of  young  men  who,  by  birth  or  by 
education,  belonged  to  the  upper  middle  class. 
These  young  men  had  seen  the  danger  of  blind 
prejudices — be  they  revolutionary  or  reaction- 
ary. The  one  thing  needful,  in  their  opinion, 
was  a  body  of  conscious  citizens,  free  and  strong, 
who  could  think  for  themselves  and  act  for 
themselves.  With  dilettantism  and  anarchism, 
the  earnest  founders  of  the  Notebooks  had  no 
sympathy;  neither  did  they  want  blindly  to 
enrol  themselves  in  any  sect  or  party.  Demo- 
crats in  the  widest  sense  of  the  term,  they  had 
no  desire  to  worship  Demos  any  more  than 
Plutus.  They  were  feeling  their  way,  eager  to 
work,  and  not  unwilling  to  fight.  There  were 
among  them  Catholics  like  their  leader,  P^guy, 
Protestants  like  Charles  Guyiesse,  the  founder 
of  pages  Litres,  Jews  like  Daniel  Hal^vy.  The 
subscribers  were  mostly  professional  men,  with 
a  clear  majority  of  teachers  and  a  fair  sprinkling 
of  artists.  Between  the  staff,  the  contributors, 
and  the  readers,  there  prevailed  a  personal 
feeling  of  confidence,  and  almost  of  affection : 
they  all  formed  indeed  a  co-operative  society  for 
260 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


the  exchange  and  elaboration  of  ideas.  The 
Cahiers,  although  periodical,  were  not  strictly  in 
magazine  form :  each  number  was  filled  by  a  single 
contributor.  It  might  contain  a  poem,  a  drama, 
a  short  novel,  an  historical,  artistic,  or  political 
study.  It  was  for  this  public  that  Romain 
Rolland  wrote  the  seventeen  instalments — now 
published  in  ten  volumes — of  his  Jean-Chris- 
tophe.  It  may  be  doubted  whether  the  first 
part  of  his  work — the  childhood  and  adole- 
scence of  his  hero — would  have  been  accepted 
by  any  commercial  publisher.  In  our  opinion, 
it  is  the  best  of  all :  but,  slow-moving,  and 
placed  in  an  unfamiliar  setting,  it  might  well 
have  puzzled  the  general  public  and  the  common 
run  of  critics.  Had  the  Cahiers  done  nothing 
but  render  the  publication  of  Jean-Christophe 
possible,  they  would  deserve  a  place  in  the 
history  of  contemporary  letters.  But  this  is 
only  their  most  striking  service.  They  have 
brought  out  many  a  young  man  with  an  ideal 
that  "  would  not  pay."  They  have  given  him 
the  joy  of  seeing  his  prose  or  his  verse  in  print, 
and  the  keener  joy  of  knowing  that  a  select, 
sympathetic  public — some  two  thousand,  all 
told — were  ready  to  give  him  a  fair  trial.     I  am 

261 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


thinking  at  present  of  such  men  as  Albert  Thierry, 
one  of  the  sweetest  souls  and  keenest  intellects 
it  has  ever  been  my  privilege  to  know,  with  the 
rarest  gifts  of  philosophical  insight  and  poetical 
expression,  a  lover  of  Germany  like  Romain 
Rolland  himself,  shot  dead  in  the  defence  of  the 
European  commonwealth.  P^guy,  the  founder 
and  manager,  a  man  with  exasperating  tricks 
of  style  and  twists  of  thought,  yet  instinct  with 
life,  and  just  coming  into  full  possession  of  his 
talent,  was  also  killed  in  the  present  war — who 
knows  ? — by  some  Thierry,  P6guy,  or  Romain 
Rolland  from  over  the  Rhine.  The  Cahiers  are 
now  a  memory :  but  for  Parisians  of  my  genera- 
tion they  remain  bound  up  with  the  best  of  our 
young  hopes. 

Jean-Christophe,  although  written  primarily 
for  such  a  small,  definite  public,  does  not  belong 
to  esoteric  literature:  the  Cahiers  as  a  whole 
have  eschewed  the  danger  which  threatens 
most  of  the  uncommercial  reviews  started  by 
young  men.  They  remained  broadly  human, 
and  Jean-Christophe  has  achieved  popular  suc- 
cess in  several  languages.  Yet  there  are  a 
number  of  allusions  to  literary  and  artistic 
cliques  that  can  hardly  be  understood   except 

262 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


by  the  initiated;  and  we  find  throughout  the 
book  echoes  of  conversations  which  must  have 
taken  place  in  the  editor's  office.  Allusions  and 
echoes  will  soon  be  forgotten;  and  the  mighty 
biographical  romance  will  be  none  the  poorer  for 
their  loss. 

§  2.  "  Jean-Christophe  ":  The  First  Four 
Volumes  . 

Dawn — Morning — A  dolescence  — Rebellion . 

Jean-Christophe  is  a  novel  of  a  type  rare  in 
France :  it  takes  the  hero  from  infancy  to  old 
age.  There  is  no  unity  of  plot :  Heaven  thanks  ! 
— no  "  secret,"  no  substitution  of  children,  no 
hidden  testament  are  needed  to  connect  these 
ten  volumes.  The  one  link  between  the  episodes 
is  the  personality  of  Jean-Christophe. 

Jean-Christophe  Krafft  was  born  in  a  small 
grand-ducal  capital,  on  the  Rhine,  not  far  from 
the  place  where  the  great  river  abandons  the 
hill  region  for  the  immense  Northern  plain.  The 
city  is  composite  and  symbolical,  like  the  uni- 
versity town  in  which  Mr,  Bergeret  spent  so 
many  dreary  years.  It  resembles  Bonn  more 
closely  than  any  other.  Bonn  was  the  residence 
of  Beethoven,  and  Beethoven  was  undoubtedly 

263 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

the  first  model  that  Romain  Rolland  had  in 
mind.  Like  that  of  Beethoven,  the  family  of 
Jean-Christophe  came  from  the  Netherlands. 
His  grandfather  Jean-Michel  had  become  Kapell- 
meister to  the  Grand-Duke.  A  curious  char- 
acter, Grandfather  Jean-Michel:  a  lover  of 
music,  and  a  good  director,  but  an  indifferent 
performer ;  filled  with  the  ambition  of  composing, 
but  devoid  of  inspiration;  tall,  stout,  loud,  a 
great  eater  and  a  heavy  drinker,  an  indefati- 
gable worker,  even  in  old  age;  given  to  violent 
fits  of  passion ;  possessed  of  a  great  sense  of  duty 
and  personal  dignity,  and  rather  fond  of  ex- 
pressing exalted  sentiments.  But  with  all  his 
ambition,  his  physical  strength,  his  violence  and 
his  pompous  platitudes,  he  is  at  heart  singularly 
timid,  cringing  before  the  local  aristocracy.  A 
chaotic,  but  convincing  and  not  unlovable 
personality :  an  incomplete  man  of  genius,  com- 
pounded with  a  Philistine  of  the  Biedermeier- 
zeit,  and  even  with  a  flunkey. 

His  son,  Melchior,  is  worse.  Big  and  strong 
like  Jean-Michel,  and  handsome  to  boot,  he  is 
a  virtuoso  on  the  violin :  he  has  those  powers  of 
expression  that  his  father  lacked :  but  he  has 
nothing  to  say.     He  is  devoid  of  sense  and  of 

264 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


energy.  He  marries  Louisa,  a  cook,  kind, 
humble,  insignificant,  with  flaxen  hair  and 
sheepish  face.  Why,  no  one  ever  knew — Louisa 
and  Melchior  least  of  all.  He  torments  her 
eternally  for  what  he  considers  a  mesalliance. 
He  gets  more  and  more  addicted  to  alcohol  in 
order  to  veil  from  himself  the  consciousness  of 
his  abject  failure. 

On  an  old  piano  given  by  Grandfather,  Jean- 
Christophe  picks  out  chords  that  move  him 
deliciously,  and  stir  the  very  depths  of  his  soul. 
His  father  catches  him  idling  at  the  keyboard; 
the  boy  expects  a  whipping;  but  Melchior  has 
been  struck  with  the  magnificent  plan  of  ex- 
ploiting his  son  as  an  infant  prodigy.  Jean* 
Christophe  does  not  take  to  musical  drill  as  to 
his  free  voyages  of  adventure  into  the  fairyland 
of  harmony.  He  refuses  to  learn,  and  has  to  be 
beaten  black  and  blue  before  he  yields.  Finally, 
technique  is  cudgelled  into  him.  His  little 
tunes  are  noted  down  by  Grandfather,  and 
dedicated,  in  terms  of  due  servility,  to  His  Most 
Serene  Highness.  A  public  concert  is  arranged, 
and  the  boy  appears  on  the  platform,  uncom- 
fortable, ridiculous,  and  touching,  in  an  evening 
suit,   and   with   hair   curled   like   lamb's   fleece. 

265 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

The  concert  is  a  great  ordeal;  it  ends  with  a 
nervous  outbreak  and  a  storm  of  tears.  But 
the  Grand-Duke  and  the  pubUc  are  pleased : 
Jean-Christophe  is  now,  irrevocably,  the  slave 
of  music. 

Amid  such  surroundings — for  the  Kraffts  live 
in  increasing  gqualor — with  such  weak  and  in- 
consistent masters  as  Michel  and  Melchior,  with 
the  atmosphere  of  sleepy  Philistinism  of  the 
little  city,  and  a  Philistine  on  the  grand-ducal 
throne,  Jean-Christophe  would  have  little  chance 
of  developing  a  genuine  artistic  temperament. 
He  is  saved  by  an  angel  in  humble  guise : 
Uncle  Gottfried,  Louisa's  brother,  timid,  kindly, 
humble  like  herself.  Gottfried  is  a  pedlar  with 
the  soul  of  a  Saint  Francis — or  shall  we  say  of  a 
Tolstoy  ?  He  sings  to  the  boy  folk-songs, 
spontaneous,  immemorial,  that  fit  his  moods 
and  reach  his  very  soul ;  and  gentle  though  he  be, 
he  condemns  the  musical  efforts  of  Christophe — 
those  pretty  tunes  that  mean  nothing,  inspired 
by  the  sole  desire  of  vulgar  praise.  He  calls 
them  bluntly  "  lies."  Thus  Christophe  begins 
to  feel  the  difference  between  music,  the  most 
\  pretentious  and  expensive  of  noises,  and  music, 

^  the  ethereal  expression  of  the  inmost  heart. 

266 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


With  the  pubHc  concert  ends  the  first  volume, 
called  The  Dawn.  The  second,  Morning,  takes 
Jean-Christophe  from  six  to  fifteen.  Jean- 
Michel  dies.  With  him  disappears  the  last 
authority  that  could  control  the  degrading 
passion  of  Melchior.  After  horrible  scenes, 
Jean-Christophe,  still  a  very  young  child,  has  to 
consider  himself  as  the  responsible  head  of  the 
family:  his  father's  salary  as  well  as  his  own,  as 
court  musicians,  are  paid  into  his  hands.  Hard, 
sombre  years  for  the  boy:  his  athletic  consti- 
tution can  hardly  bear  the  strain:  he  suffers 
from  constant  nervous  ailments.  He  is  coarse 
in  appearance,  vulgar  in  manners,  unkempt, 
ugly :  but  illumined  by  his  faith  in  music  and  in 
himself. 

On  the  Rhine  boat,  he  meets  a  boy  of  his  own 
age.  Otto  Diener,  who  has  heard  him  perform 
and  admires  him  immensely.  The  pair  strike 
on  the  spot  a  romantic  friendship :  the  sap  of 
adolescence  is  ascending  in  their  veins.  They 
are  absurd  in  their  effusions,  and  never  quite 
sincere :  for  they  attempt  to  keep  their  relation- 
ship on  the  exalted  plane  which  it  had  reached 
but  for  a  moment.  They  are  never  free  and 
happy  except  when,  forgetting  their  Damon  and 

267 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

Pythias  attitudes,  they  romp  about  hke  the 
young  boys  they  are.  But  the  idyll  does  not 
last.  Otto  is  rich,  well-groomed,  well-mannered, 
timid,  respectful,  respectable :  he  has  the  soul  of 
a  perfect  Philistine.  He  is  somewhat  ashamed 
of  Jean-Christophe,  with  his  Bohemianism,  his 
revolutionary  disrespect,  his  plebeian  loudness. 
Sure  of  Christophe's  devotion,  he  takes  a  co- 
quette's pleasure  in  tormenting  him,  in  rousing 
his  jealousy,  for  the  mere  devilry  of  it.  Chris- 
tophe's brothers,  who  have  grown  into  nasty 
little  scamps,  do  their  best  to  spoil  their  friend- 
ship with  their  sneers  and  innuendoes.  It  is  a 
relief  when  Otto  leaves  the  city  for  some  distant 
university, 

Jean-Christophe's  boyish  enthusiasm  for  his 
friend  Otto  was  but  the  herald  of  love.  An 
aristocratic  widow,  Madame  Josepha  von  Kerich, 
comes  to  settle  down  in  her  long  abandoned  pro- 
vincial home,  not  far  from  the  house  of  Jean- 
Christophe's  parents.  She  has  a  daughter, 
Minna,  a  little  goose,  rather  pretty,  and  instinc- 
tively flirtatious.  Mme.  von  Kerich  is  level- 
headed, kindly  in  her  manners,  elegantly  selfish 
at  heart.  She  "  picks  up  "  Jean-Christophe,  be- 
cause she  does  not  know  what  to  do  in  her  new 

268 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


surroundings,  because  she  sincerely  admires  his 
courage,  because  he  is  talked  of  as  a  musical 
genius,  and  chiefly  perhaps  because  his  absurd 
manifestations  of  adoration  and  gratitude  amuse 
and  flatter  her.  As  for  Minna,  she  despises 
Christophe,  who  is  a  boor;  and  he,  on  his  part, 
does  not  waste  much  admiration  on  her.  Yet, 
one  day,  when  he  is  giving  her  a  music  lesson, 
some  obscure  instinct  prompts  him  to  kiss  the 
little  paw  which  happens  to  be  conveniently 
near  his  lips.  And  this  kiss  is  an  electric  spark 
between  two  beings  who  have  absolutely  noth- 
ing in  common,  except  that  they  have  both 
reached  the  April  of  their  lives.  Then  follows 
an  innocent  idyll,  in  which  the  two  children  try 
hard  to  believe  that  they  are  madly  in  love. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  are  in  love  with  Love, 
or  rather  with  the  shadow  of  its  coming.  Mme. 
von  Kerich  is  too  experienced  a  woman  of  the 
world  not  to  discover  the  great  secret  of  Minna 
and  Christophe.  Without  any  fuss,  she  moves 
for  a  while  to  Frankfort.  Minna's  letters  soon 
grow  shorter  and  more  formal .  When  she  comes 
back,  Christophe  discovers  what  abysses  lie 
between  them — social  and  spiritual  gulfs.  Minna 
is   lost,    or   rather   she   never   was   won.      His 

269 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

wounded  pride  flares  up  into  burning  fury. 
But  the  scar  will  soon  be  healed.  And  his  silly 
little  love  affair  is  forgotten  in  the  tragedy  of 
his  father's  death:  Melchior,  drunk,  has  fallen 
into  the  mill  race,  and  they  bring  home  his 
drowned  body.  Thus  ends  the  childhood  of 
Jean-Christophe . 

The  Kraffts,  after  Melchior 's  death,  have  been 
compelled  to  take  humbler  lodgings  in  the  house 
of  the  Eulers.  These  good  people,  honest,  sym- 
pathetic, are  a  relief  at  first,  after  the  deceitful 
politeness,  the  hardness  and  coldness  of  the  von 
Kerich.  But  they  soon  become  unbearable. 
All  of  them  are  vulgar,  loud,  pessimistic,  and 
constantly  interfering  with  people's  most  private 
affairs.  They  have  an  assertive  and  uncom- 
promising sense  of  duty,  which  consists  mainly 
in  making  themselves  and  everybody  else  as 
uncomfortable  as  possible.  The  female  head  of 
the  house,  Amalia,  shrieking  and  dictatorial,  is 
insufferable.  Her  daughter  Rosa,  a  plain  and 
rather  foolish  little  girl,  is  loud  like  the  rest,  but 
kind  and  affectionate.  The  poor  child  falls 
deeply  in  love  with  Jean-Christophe,  who  cannot 
bear  her. 

Meanwhile    adolescence  is  throbbing  with  the 

270 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


rich,  heavy  blood  of  Christophe.  His  thoughts 
are  turbid  to  the  verge  of  madness.  He  has  a 
strong  animal  nature  that  he  has  not  yet  curbed, 
that  he  does  not  even  understand.  Not  until 
many  years  later  will  the  brute  be  lashed  into 
submission. 

Yet  his  next  experience  is  singularly  pure  and 
sweet.  There  lives  on  the  ground-floor  of  the 
Eulers'  house  a  young  widow,  Sabine,  who  keeps 
a  little  store  of  notions.  The  description  of 
Sabine's  character  is,  in  my  opinion,  the  most 
wonderful  thing  in  the  whole  cycle.  We  know 
practically  nothing  about  her,  except  that  she 
is  languid  in  body  and  torpid  in  mind,  too  lazy 
even  to  dress  with  care  or  to  attend  properly 
to  her  little  shop,  too  lazy  to  read,  to  speak,  and 
perhaps  to  think.  We  are  not  even  told  that 
she  is  very  pretty:  she  is  slight  of  build,  with 
grey,  indefinite  eyes.  Yet,  with  Jean-Chris- 
tophe,  we  fall  under  her  undefinable  charm. 
After  the  squalor  of  so  many  episodes,  after  the 
mediocrity  of  Otto,  the  artificial  elegance  of  the 
Kerich,  the  vulgarity  of  the  Euler,  Sabine  repre- 
sents simplicity,  sweetness,  repose.  She  is  not 
much  more  substantial  than  a  shadow,  and  the 
melancholy   of  fragile  gentleness   is   upon   her. 

271 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

Christophe  and  Sabine  spend  sweet  evening 
hours  of  silent  communion,  seated  in  front  of  the 
house.  No  word  of  love  passes  between  them. 
Yet  they  know.  They  are  invited  together  to 
a  christening.  A  storm  compels  them  to  accept 
for  the  night  the  hospitality  of  Sabine's  brother. 
A  door  between  their  adjoining  rooms  unbolted, 
then  bolted  again  in  silence,  is  the  symbol  of 
their  love,  which  was  to  remain  unspoken  and 
chaste.  Christophe  goes  away  for  a  series  of 
concerts.  When  he  returns,  Sabine  is  dead. 
A  picture  in  grey  upon  grey,  exquisitely  tender 
and  pathetic  without  a  single  touch  of  senti- 
mentality. The  haunting  eyes  of  Sabine  impress 
themselves  indelibly  in  our  memory. 

Then  comes  the  fall,  deferred  by  Sabine's 
sweet  influence.  Jean-Christophe  meets  a  shop- 
girl, Ada,  vulgar  and  sensual,  stupid  and  yet 
perverse.  The  boy  sinks  lower  and  lower,  in 
company  with  Ada's  friends  and  with  his  own 
brother,  Ernst.  But  his  teachers  go  too  far 
and  too  fast  for  him :  he  shakes  them  off  with  a 
shudder  of  disgust.  He  is  not  saved  yet:  the 
old  Erbfeind,  the  hereditary  foe,  drink,  is  upon 
him.  Is  he  going  to  be  another  Melchior  ? 
The  angel  in  disguise,  Uncle  Gottfried,  saves  him. 

272 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


The  great  untutored  strength  is  still  there,  the 
flame  of  idealism  is  still  bright,  and  Jean- 
Christophe  sets  forth  to  conquer  the  world. 

But  the  first  result  of  this  great  awakening  is 
to  make  him  conscious  of  the  conventional  lies 
that  surround,  and  had  all  but  stifled,  him:  the 
hypocrisy  of  national  idealism,  the  self-delusion 
of  much  of  our  culture,  the  hollow  mask  that  we 
worship  as  art.  The  fierce  sincerity  of  a  boy 
easily  becomes  iconoclastic :  the  whole  Germanic 
Pantheon  seems  to  him  an  array  of  crumbling 
idols.  He  blasphemes  not  only  Brahms  and 
Mendelssohn,  not  only  Schubert  and  Schumann, 
but  Wagner  and  Beethoven  themselves.  Un- 
fortunately, he  is  inveigled  into  writing  his 
destructive  criticism  for  a  little  review,  pub- 
lished by  a  set  of  gilded  young  aesthetes,  mostly 
Jews;  and  he  draws  upon  himself  the  hostility 
of  the  whole  town.  An  article  of  his,  published 
in  the  local  Socialist  paper,  causes  him  to  lose 
his  last  shield,  the  protection  of  the  Grand-Duke. 
He  spends  his  last  pfennig  on  an  edition  of  his 
Lieder,  which  does  not  sell.  He  loses  his  private 
lessons.  His  friendships  are  poisoned  by  insi- 
dious scandal.  To  keep  body  and  soul  together, 
he  must  teach  stupid  children  in  a  private  school, 
X  273 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

or  rather  make  believe  that  he  is  teaching  them. 
A  symphony  orchestra  offers  to  perform  one  of 
his  compositions;  at  the  pubhc  rehearsal,  they 
grotesquely  disfigure  it,  amid  the  jeers  and 
laughter  of  the  audience :  and  the  Kapellmeister 
closes  the  "  execution  "  with  these  avenging 
words:  "  I  would  never  have  had  that  thing 
played  to  the  end,  had  I  not  wanted  to  expose 
the  individual  who  had  so  foolishly  attacked 
Meister  Brahms."  Christophe  feels  himself  en- 
gulfed by  the  quicksands.  One  last  effort:  he 
scrapes  a  few  marks  together,  and  goes  to  Berlin 
to  see  Hassler,  the  great  musician  whom  he 
worshipped  as  a  boy  and  who  had  promised  to 
help  him.  He  can  barely  secure  a  hearing. 
Hassler  is  moved  for  a  moment  by  the  new  and 
powerful  elements  in  Christophe's  music,  but 
his  laziness,  his  selfishness,  his  cynicism  soon 
take  the  upper  hand,  and  he  dismisses  the  young 
man  with  discouraging  words.* 

On  his  way  back  from  Berlin,  however,  Chris- 
tophe has  a  few  hours  of  pure  joy.     One  man  at 

*  These  different  episodes,  the  Calvary  of  a  musician, 
are  borrowed  from  the  life  of  Hugo  Wolf,  who,  not  blessed 
with  Christophe's  power  of  resistance,  succumbed  to  those 
persecutions  and  died  in  an  insane  asylum. 

274 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


least  has  read  and  appreciated  his  Lieder;  a 
Professor-Emeritus  in  a  Southern  university, 
Dr.  Peter  Schultz.  Christophe  goes  out  of  his 
way  to  visit  his  admirer.  Old  Schultz  is  one 
of  the  most  delightful  characters  in  contem- 
porary literature:  not  great,  but  modest,  child- 
like, loving,  devoted  to  the  ideal.  He  falls  in 
love  with  Christophe 's  boisterous  personality, 
as  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  his  unconventional 
music.  Schultz  is  left  exhausted  with  the  joy 
and  exertion  of  Christophe's  visit.  The  old 
man,  who  had  long  been  ailing,  dies  a  few  weeks 
later.  Strength  goes  to  the  strong:  Christophe 
had  killed  Schultz  and  drawn  comfort  from  him. 
He  can  no  longer  breathe  in  the  hostile  atmos- 
phere of  his  little  city.  France,  of  which  he  has 
but  a  blurred  and  distorted  image  in  his  mind, 
attracts  him  mysteriously.  Yet  he  cannot  make 
up  his  mind  to  go,  for  his  old  mother  needs  him. 
Fate  cuts  the  Gordian  knot.  At  a  village  dance, 
some  soldiers  handle  roughly  the  peasant  girls 
— their  rustic  knights  looking  upon  the  scene  in 
sullen  impotence.  Hot-headed  Christophe  starts 
a  brawl.  Stirred  by  his  example,  the  peasants, 
men  and  women,  fall  upon  the  soldiers,  several 
of  whom  are   dangerously  wounded.     There  is 

275 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

nothing  for  Christophe  to  do  but  flee  the  country. 
The  next  morning,  he  is  across  the  Belgian  fron 
tier,  on  his  way  to  Paris. 


§  3.  "  Jean-Christophe  ":  the  Last  Six 
Volumes. 

The  Fair  on  the  Market-Place — Antoinette — In  the  House — 
The  Friends — The  Burning  Bush — The  New  Day. 

We  have  analyzed  at  some  length  the  first  four 
volumes,  Dawn,  Morning,  Adolescence,  Rebel- 
lion, because  they  alone  possess  genuine  unity 
and  continuity.  There  is  no  episode  which  does 
not  contribute  to  the  formation  of  Christophe 's 
character.  German  life  is  described,  not  directly 
and  for  its  own  sake,  but  by  implication,  and  as 
the  background  of  the  hero's  personality.  At 
the  end  of  these  four  volumes,  we  see  and  feel 
Jean-Christophe,  a  tumultuous  force,  a  demigod 
and  a  beast,  still  uncouth,  yet  compellingly  alive, 
like  some  block  rough-hewn  by  Michael-Angelo 
or  Rodin.  The  other  six  volumes  are  not  in- 
ferior, but  they  are  different.  The  biography 
turns  into  an  encyclopaedia.  A  total  picture  of 
French,  and  even  of  European,  civilization;  the 
faults  and  aspirations  of  the  present  generation ; 

276 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


a  crowd  of  characters  in  all  reaches  of  society; 
satires,  sermons,  and  symbols :  all  these  elements 
are  crammed  into  the  last  two  parts  of  the  work, 
Jean-Christophe  in  Paris  and  The  End  of  the 
Journey.  We  lose  sight  of  Christophe  for  whole 
chapters  at  a  time,  and  even  for  an  entire  volume. 
The  chronology  of  his  life  becomes  impossible : 
historical  events  are  compressed  or  distended  so 
as  to  fit  the  larger  purposes  of  the  author,  and, 
at  the  end,  we  doubt  whether  Christophe  him- 
self is  a  living  man,  or  a  Protean  symbol  of 
Music,  of  the  German  spirit,  of  Strength,  of  his 
Age^ — the  Saint  Christopher  who  carries  across 
the  flood  the  all  but  crushing  burden  of  the 
Divine  Child,  of  the  Christ  that  is  to  be.  From 
the  point  of  view  of  technique,  these  last  six 
volumes  cannot  compare  with  the  first  four: 
but  in  their  immense  cycle  we  find  treasures  of 
realism,  of  psychology,  of  poetry  and  wisdom. 

Jean-Christophe's  first  experiences  in  Paris 
are  dismal  enough.  Hunger,  isolation,  humilia- 
tion, no  trial  is  spared  him.  He  lives,  pre- 
cariously, by  giving  lessons  and  doing  some 
hackwork  for  musical  publishers.  Clumsy,  un- 
compromising, with  fits  of  uncontrollable  vio- 
lence, he  gathers  unto  himself  a  goodly  company 

277 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

of  enemies.  These  succeed  in  wrecking  his 
lyrical  poem, "  David,"  when,  after  many  tribula- 
tions, he  had  at  last  managed  to  have  it  per- 
formed. He  loses  his  temper  before  the  hostility 
and  incomprehension  of  the  public,  stops  in  the 
middle  of  a  piece,  plays  with  one  finger  a  Mother 
Goose  song,  and  tells  his  audience:  "  That  is  the 
stuff  you  are  fit  for  !"  Not  only  is  he  penniless, 
friendless,  unrecognized:  but  he  feels  oppressed, 
sick  to  his  very  soul  in  the  decadent  Cosmopolis 
of  which  he  sees  naught  but  the  worst  aspects. 
A  German  Jew,  Sylvain  Kohn,  has,  under  the 
name  of  Hamilton,  become  one  of  the  arbiters 
of  so-called  Parisian  elegance.  He  is  the  Vergil 
of  Jean-Christophe  through  the  circles  of  the 
new  Inferno.  Everywhere  artificiality,  fri- 
volity, corruption.  Is  that  Paris  ?  Is  that 
France  ?  wonders  the  young  musician.  "  We 
are  Paris;  we  are  France,"  replies  his  Anglo- 
Judaeo-Germanic  guide.  Everything  seems  to 
Christophe  meretricious,  tawdry,  noisy  and  sor- 
did, like  the  cheap  and  temporary  versions  of 
Coney  Island  that  used  to  dishonour  the  streets 
of  Paris.  It  is,  to  use  the  author's  own  phrase 
and  the  title  of  his  fifth  volume,  The  Fair  on  the 
Market-Place. 
278 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


Finally,  when  even  his  robust  constitution 
and  his  faith  seemed  to  give  way  under  the 
strain,  he  meets  a  young  poet,  gentle,  timid,  and 
a  passionate  admirer  of  his  music;  their  souls 
rush  towards  each  other;  the  friendship  with 
Olivier  Jeannin  will  be  the  most  decisive  and 
the  most  permanent  factor  in  the  progress  of 
Christophe. 

Olivier  and  Christophe  were  not  absolute 
strangers  when  they  met  for  the  first  time;  for 
Christophe  had  come  across  Olivier's  sister, 
Antoinette,  just  once  and  by  the  merest  accident, 
in  Germany.  That  single  meeting  had  sown  the 
seed  of  what  might  have  become  a  great  love. 
The  father  of  Antoinette  and  Olivier,  a  banker, 
honest  but  incompetent,  had  lost  some  of  the 
money  entrusted  to  him,  and,  in  his  despair, 
gambled  away  the  rest.  On  the  eve  of  detection, 
he  committed  suicide.  Their  mother,  unable  to 
cope  with  the  difficulties  of  their  new  life,  died 
of  heart  failure.  Antoinette,  hitherto  a  merry, 
thoughtless  young  girl,  devotes  all  her  energies 
to  the  education  of  her  timid  and  delicate 
brother.  By  dint  of  untold  privations,  she  sees 
him  at  last  safe  into  the  Superior  Normal  School, 
and,    exhausted,    passes    away   at    twenty-five. 

279 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

This  simple,  heart-rending  story,  complete  in 
itself,  and  with  which  Christophe  is  but  acci- 
dentally connected,  fills  the  whole  of  the  sixth 
volume. 

Christophe  and  Olivier  live  together  and  work 
together.  Thanks  to  the  young  poet — a  scion 
of  the  old  provincial  bourgeoisie — the  German 
musician  discovers  real  France.  He  is  no  longer 
"  on  the  Market-Place,"  he  is  "  in  the  House." 
There  he  comes  across  a  surprising  number  of 
excellent  people,  Protestants,  Catholics,  Jews 
and  Free-Thinkers,  priest,  scholar,  soldier, 
artisan,  all  quiet,  retiring,  shrinking,  as  different 
as  one  could  dream  from  the  cosmopolitan 
mountebanks  of  the  Fair.  Their  besetting  sins 
are  that  nervous  pride,  that  self-distrust  which 
prevent  them,  the  sane  and  wholesome  part  of 
the  nation,  from  coming  together,  and  sweeping 
away  the  parasites.  In  that  symbolical  House — 
a  cross-section  of  French  society — Christophe 
himself  is  a  symbol  rather  than  the  flesh  and 
blood  individual  we  had  come  to  know  so  well. 
He  is  the  spirit  of  health,  and  strength,  and  joy. 
Gradually  he  rouses  his  neighbours,  humanizes 
them,  reconciles  them .  Wherever  his  music  or  his 
laughter  are  heard,  gloom  and  diffidence  recede. 

280 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


Then  begins  the  third  series,  The  End  of  the 
Journey.  Through  the  fancy  of  an  autocratic 
newspaper  proprietor,  Christophe  finds  himself 
suddenly  and  noisily  famous,  but,  unbending  as 
usual,  he  soon  quarrels  with  his  protector,  and 
bitter  attacks  are  the  ransorn  of  his  season  of 
notoriety.  Then  these  attacks  cease,  without 
any  apparent  reason,  as  they  had  begun :  Chris- 
tophe's  guardian  angel  has  come  to  the  rescue. 
That  angel  is  Countess  Bereny,  now  prominent 
in  diplomatic  society,  and  who,  eight  years 
before,  a  timid  Italian  girl  of  fourteen,  had 
silently  worshipped  the  musician.  This,  and 
other  feminine  friendships,  justify  the  title  of 
the  eighth  volume,  Les  Amies.  But  the  chief 
interest  is  not  centred  in  Christophe  at  all;  it 
is  found  in  the  love  marriage  of  Olivier  Jeannin 
with  Jacqueline,  soon  spoilt  by  the  latter's 
frivolity  and  selfishness,  and  ending  in  disaster. 

Olivier  seeks  comfort  in  comforting  others. 
An  accident  reveals  to  him  the  unsuspected 
abysses  of  the  social  problem,  and  he  can  no 
longer  take  his  eyes  away.  He  follows  with 
ardent  sympathy,  yet  as  an  outsider,  the  syndi- 
calist movement.  Christophe,  who  does  not 
share  his  opinions,  but  who  is  of  plebeian  origin, 

281 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


is  much  more  at  home  with  men  of  the  people 
than  the  overrefined  OHvier:  he  is  more  and 
more  considered  as  one  of  the  party.  A  high 
official  in  the  police,  who  is  also  a  lover  of  music, 
sends  him  indirect  warnings,  which  pass  un- 
heeded. The  First  of  May  arrives.  A  great 
labour  demonstration  has  been  planned.  Chris- 
tophe  enjoys  the  fun  and  excitement  of  it,  and 
drags  Olivier  with  him  into  the  street.  Suddenly, 
in  a  scuffle,  a  little  proteg^  of  Olivier 's  falls 
down  and  is  in  danger  of  being  trampled  to 
death.  Olivier  rushes  forward  to  save  him. 
Christophe,  without  knowing  exactly  what  is 
taking  place,  finds  himself  fighting  with  two 
policemen.  Threatened  with  a  bayonet  thrust, 
he  twists  his  opponent's  wrist,  and  kills  him 
with  his  own  weapon.  There  is  no  hope  for  him 
but  in  instant  flight.  An  automobile  enables 
him  to  catch  the  Swiss  express  at  a  way  station. 
After  a  few  days  of  aimless  and  dangerous 
wanderings,  he  lands,  exhausted,  sick,  maddened 
with  grief  and  remorse,  in  an  unnamed  city 
which  can  be  none  other  than  Basel.  He  has 
learnt  on  the  way  that  Olivier  was  dead. 

At  Basel,  he  accepts  the  hospitality  of  an  old 
acquaintance,  Dr.  Braun.     The  wife  of  his  host, 

282 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


Anna,  possesses  a  singularly  unattractive  per- 
sonality. Austere  but  tasteless  in  her  apparel, 
stiff  in  manners,  sullen,  almost  hostile  in  expres- 
sion, she  repels  our  spontaneous  and  all  too 
human  Christophe.  Yet,  once,  she  sings  for 
him  with  a  new  voice  and  a  new  soul;  another 
time,  in  a  short  excursion,  he  detects  in  her  a 
richness  of  physical  life,  a  supple  grace  and 
strength  that  he  had  never  suspected.  There  is 
a  repressed  Bacchant  in  that  rigid  Protestant 
housewife.  And  the  same  torrent  of  passion 
suddenly  sweeps  over  Christophe  and  Anna. 
Do  they  love  or  hate  each  other  ?  They  do  not 
even  know  each  other:  they  no  longer  know 
themselves.  Ancestral  depths,  long  dormant, 
are  stirred  within  them.  They  find  no  joy  in 
their  sin :  naught  but  shame  and  remorse.  They 
fain  would  die :  but  the  old  revolver  they  try  to 
use  misses  fire.  Finally  Anna  falls  sick,  and 
Christophe  runs  away.  This  crisis  was  the 
deepest  experience  in  his  life.  His  great  weak- 
ness so  far  had  been  his  pride  in  his  all-conquer- 
ing will :  he  was  the  captain  of  his  soul  !  And 
now  he  had  fallen  again,  as  when  Ada  had 
tempted  him,  fallen  lower  than  ever  before, 
betray ed|his  host,  whilst  the  sacred  memory  of 

283 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

Olivier  was  still  flesh  in  his  soul  I  He  emerges 
from  the  ordeal  chastened,  and  his  hair  sprinkled 
with  grey.  He  had  seen  God  in  the  burning 
bush. 

Lengthening  shadows  cast  their  sombre  peace 
over  the  last  volume.  Banished  from  France 
and  Germany  alike,  Christophe  spends  ten  years 
in  Switzerland  and  Italy.  There  he  meets 
Countess  Grazia  Bereny,  the  woman  who  adored 
him  in  her  young  girlhood  and  protected  him 
secretly  in  Paris.  She  is  now  a  widow,  and  the 
most  tender,  confidential  friendship  is  established 
between  her  and  Christophe.  Yet  they  do  not 
marry:  Grazia's  son,  a  jealous,  selfish  bundle  of 
nerves,  vetoes  such  a  union.  Beside,  they  are 
too  different,  too  strongly  individualized,  ever 
to  merge  their  personalities.  Grazia  dies. 
Christophe  finds  his  last  joy  in  bringing  together 
Olivier's  son  and  Grazia's  daughter.  It  is  his 
Nunc  Dimittis.  Hardly  have  the  young  people 
left  for  their  bridal  trip,  when  the  old  fighter 
collapses  and  dies,  alone,  conducting  a  dream 
symphony  which  merges  into  the  music  of 
eternity. 


284 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


§  4.  "  Jean-Christophe  ":  Interpretation  and 
Criticism. 

Strength  and  its  failure — The  techniques  of  Jean-Christophe 
— Jean  Christophe  as  an  historical  document — ^Franco- 
German  reconciliation. 

Not  a  very  happy  life  after  all:  indeed  a 
decided  failure.  Material  rewards  Christophe  had 
none :  to  the  last,  world-famous  though  he  was, 
he  had  to  contend  with  petty  cares.  Success 
gave  him  no  pleasure:  its  cost  was  too  great, 
and  the  loudest  of  his  admirers  were  also  the 
least  intelligent.  Three  times  had  true  love 
come  across  his  path:  Sabine  and  Antoinette 
died,  their  secret  unspoken,  and  he  met  Grazia 
too  late.  His  spiritual  ascent  had  been  so  slow, 
so  painful  !  And  he  did  not  achieve  victory 
until  he  was  a  broken  reed,  unable  to  take  any 
pride  or  joy  in  the  weary  peace  that  had  come  to 
him. 

The  chief  characteristic  of  Jean-Christophe  is 
Strength;  the  very  name,  KralTt,  is  symbolical; 
and  the  lesson  of  the  book  is  perhaps  just  that 
failure  of  mere  strength,  the  victory  of  gentle- 
ness— the  faint  irresistible  grace  of  Sabine,  the 
holy  influence  of  Gottfried,  the  loving  humility 

285    j 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

of  Schultz,  the  sweet  dignity  of  Antoinette,  the 
quiet  joy  and  peace  that  were  Grazia.  It  must 
be  said  that  the  strength  of  Jean-Christophe  is 
not  absolutely  convincing.  We  hear  much  about 
it:  we  do  not  feel  it  so  plainly.  This  is  not 
strictly  the  author's  fault.  All  the  greatness  of 
Jean-Christophe  is  in  his  music :  unless  we  know 
his  works,  we  know  but  the  lesser  half  of  him. 
And  how  can  a  novelist  impress  upon  us  the 
beauty  of  music — and  of  fictitious  music  at  that  ? 
Even  in  his  Life  of  Beethoven,  Romain  Rolland 
emphasized  human  weaknesses  and  trials  at  the 
expense  of  musical  triumph.  We  can  restore 
the  balance,  because  we  know  what  Beethoven 
has  achieved.  But  what  do"  Judith,""  David," 
"  Gargantua,"  and  the  other  titles  of  Christophe's 
works,  mean  to  us  ? 

There  is  another  reason  for  this  failure  to 
convey  the  sensation  of  strength.  Romain 
Rolland  is  intellectually  a  worshipper  of  power : 
at  times  we  might  be  tempted  to  say:  even  of 
brute  force.  It  is  hard  for  an  idealist  to  live 
in  these  days  of  Anglo-Saxon  supremacy  and 
Pan-Germanism,  and  not  be  contaminated. 
But  he  worships  strength  all  the  more  because 
strength  is  not  in  him.     His  soul  and  his  art  are 

286 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


gentle  and  subtle,  rich  in  half-tints,  fine  shades 
and  scruples.  When  he  describes  strength, 
when  he  attempts  to  blow  the  heroic  trumpet, 
he  reminds  us  of  the  late  imitators  of  Michael- 
Angelo,  with  the  muscles  of  their  athletes 
bulging  to  monstrous  proportions — well-padded 
lay  figures  rather  than  living  men.  In  passages 
of  delicate  melancholy,  on  the  contrary,  he  is 
supreme :  I  earnestly  believe  that  the  episodical 
characters  of  Sabine,  Schultz,  Antoinette, 
Madame  Arnaud,  deserve  to  live  in  the  world's 
literature. 

As  a  novel,  Jean-Christophe  cannot  be  judged 
as  a  whole.  The  first  four  volumes  form  an 
excellent  biography  of  the  Anglo-German  type, 
slow  but  continuous.  In  the  jungle  of  the  last 
six,  there  are  several  self-contained  stories  which 
are,  on  the  contrary,  masterpieces  of  French 
technique :  Antoinette,  Jacqueline,  Anna.  Jean- 
Christophe  is  a  cycle,  not  a  book.  But  in  this 
apparent  chaos,  the  French  love  of  order  asserts 
itself,  sometimes  to  excess.  Even  the  first  part 
does  not  flow  evenly:  it  is  divided  into  definite, 
well-centred  episodes.  We  do  not  take  up 
Minna  until  we  are  absolutely  through  with 
Otto.     There   is  no   blending   of  the  successive 

287 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

pictures.  Keller's  Griine  Heinrich,  for  example, 
is  a  mighty  river,  like  "  Vater  Rhein  "  :  Jean- 
Christophe  might  be  likened  to  a  semi-artificial 
waterway,  interrupted  by  locks.  In  the  second 
part,  that  analytical,  clarifying  tendency  is  even 
more  strongly  marked,  and  becomes  almost  pain- 
ful. In  The  Fair  on  the  Market-Place,  we  see  all 
the  dark  stains  of  Paris;  we  must  wait  for  the 
seventh  volume.  In  the  House,  to  be  shown  the 
redeeming  features;  no  decent  Frenchman,  we 
must  believe,  ever  ventures  on  the  market-place ; 
not  a  single  self-seeker  has  found  his  way  to  that 
Haven  of  Blessedness,  the  "  House."  Now, 
Jean-Christophe  was  a  sane,  normal  man;  he 
came  to  Paris  with  Gallophile  prejudices;  and 
it  is  hardly  expected  that  he  would  get  such  an 
artificially  contrasted  view  of  Parisian  society. 

As  a  description  of  French  civilization,  Jean- 
Christophe  is  a  precious  document,  but  not  fully 
reliable.  We  may  note  in  passing  that  the 
culture  study  and  the  biography  of  the  hero, 
instead  of  being  the  warp  and  woof  of  the  same 
texture,  are  independent,  and  somewhat  clumsily 
tagged  to  each  other.  The  life  of  Jean-Chris- 
tophe and  the  facts  of  contemporary  history  do 
not  synchronize.     The  background  of  the  fifth 

288 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


volume  is  provided  by  the  events  of  1 908-09 : 
Jean-Christophe,  who  has  just  escaped  from 
Germany  before  serving  his  time  in  the  army, 
must  be  about  twenty.  In  the  eighth,  Chris- 
tophe  is  ten  years  older,  but  we  are  still  in  1910 
or  thereabouts.  In  the  last,  fifteen  more  years 
have  elapsed,  yet  the  historical  setting  is  the 
year  1 9 1 1 .  The  book  is  a  satire  and  an  apology 
in  succession,  rather  than  a  disinterested  study. 
The  author  attempts  to  be  impartial :  a  noble 
desire  1  But  his  impartiality  is  not  of  the  kind 
that  proceeds  from  an  independent  and  loftier 
conception:  it  consists  in  espousing  one  opinion 
after  the  other.  Romain  Rolland  is  by  turns  a 
cosmopolitan  and  a  narrow  nationalist,  a  de- 
fender of  tradition  and  a  believer  in  revolution, 
an  admirer  and  an  enemy  of  the  Jews.  His  one 
positive  call  to  arms  seems  to  be:  Let  the  good 
people  come  together  and  drive  the  rascals 
away  !  By  good  people,  apparently,  we  must 
understand  those  who  so  far  have  been  too  weak 
to  speak  for  themselves,  and  too  selfish  to  help 
one  another.  Drive  the  rascals  away  !  By  all 
means.  But  will  that  reconcile  Calvin,  Bossuet 
and  Voltaire  ?  A  more  definite  criterion  Romain 
Rolland  would  probably  repudiate  as  sectarian: 
u  289 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

but  I  am  afraid  that  his  broad-mindedness  has 
betrayed  him  into  incoherence. 

In  a  word,  Romain  Rolland  seems  to  me  to 
have  the  noblest  ambition,  the  widest  culture, 
the  most  varied  talent  of  any  living  French 
writer.  But  the  undefinable  something  which 
is  in  Hugo,  in  Balzac,  in  Tolstoy,  even  in  lesser 
men  like  Loti  and  Barr^s,  is  not  in  him.  Hence 
a  general  impression  of  disappointment  at  the 
end — a  disappointment  more  creditable  to  the 
author  than  many  words  of  praise.  Jean- 
Christophe  is  so  great  and  so  good  that  we 
should  like  it  to  be  one  of  the  world's  everlasting 
masterpieces:  but  we  cannot  delude  ourselves 
into  the  belief  that  it  is. 

With  its  deficiencies  and  its  actual  faults, 
there  are  few  modern  books  that  are  more  en- 
joyable and  more  ennobling.  The  quality  which 
endears  it  most  to  the  hearts  of  many  readers 
throughout  the  world  is  its  Tolstoyan  depth  of 
sympathy.  But  it  has  a  more  special  message 
to  impart,  a  message  to  which  the  events  of  the 
last  two  years  have  given  a  tragic  significance — 
the  reconciliation  between  France  and  Germany. 
And  I  should  like  to  close  with  words  that  ought 
to   be   taught   from    Koenigsberg   to    Bayonne, 

290 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


words  to  which  Romain  Rolland  has  remained 
nobly  loyal,  even  at  the  worst  of  the  universal 
storm : 

"  Who  knows,  in  France,  the  force  of  sym- 
pathy which  urges  towards  France  so  many 
generous  hearts  in  the  neighbouring  nation  ? 
So  many  loyal  hands  stretched  out  towards  us, 
and  which  are  not  responsible  for  the  crimes  of 
politics  !  And  do  you  not  see  us  either,  you 
our  German  brothers,  to  whom  we  say:  '  Here 
are  our  hands.  In  spite  of  lies  and  hatreds,  we 
cannot  be  separated.  We  need  you,  you  need 
us,  for  the  greatness  of  our  spirits  and  of  our 
races.  We  are  the  two  wings  of  the  West. 
Break  one,  and  the  flight  of  the  other  will  be 
broken.  War  may  come :  but  it  will  not  unclasp 
our  hands,  nor  sever  the  fraternal  flight  of  our 
souls.'" 


Postscript:  "  Above  The  Strife  " 
(Au-dessus  de  la  Mel^e). 

This  study  was  completed  before  I  had  read 
all  the  articles  now  collected  under  the  title 
"  Above  the  Strife."  My  respect  and  sympathy 
had  gone  out,  spontaneously,  to  Romain  Rolland, 

291 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

one  of  the  few  men  who  dared  to  think  for  them- 
selves, and  express  their  thought,  whilst  poets, 
scientists,  and  philosophers  allowed  themselves 
to  be  swayed  by  the  most  obvious  currents  of 
mob-psychology.  With  his  essential  conten- 
tion, I  agree  with  all  my  heart.  Western 
Europe  is  one  commonwealth,  now  torn  asunder 
by  civil  strife;  and  the  French  of  to-day  should 
not  take  back  the  tribute  of  admiration  and  love 
that  Victor  Hugo,  Michelet,  Quinet,  Renan, 
have  paid  to  the  soul  of  Germany — Germania 
Mater.  We  must  look  beyond  the  conflict,  and 
prepare,  in  time  of  war,  for  the  collaboration  and 
reconciliation  which  must,  inevitably,  follow,  if 
Europe  is  to  live  and  prosper.  Generosity, 
courage,  eloquence  are  abundantly  found  in 
these  articles  of  Romain  Rolland.  Why  is  it 
that  the  book  leaves  us  with  an  impression  of 
uncertainty,  of  disappointment,  almost  of  irri- 
tation ? 

First  of  all,  the  book  is  lacking  in  humility; 
there  is  in  it  a  tinge  of  cultured  Pharisaism : 
"  I  thank  Thee,  O  Lord,  that  I  am  not  as  other 
men  are,  extortioners,  unjust,  adulterers,  or 
even  as  this  publican."  Now  the  assumption 
of  superiority  by  a  non-ccombtant  is  an  insult 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


to  the  brave  men  who  are  dying  for  their  faith.* 
The  man  who  stands  aloof  in  these  tragic  days 
owes  the  world  an  explanation,  almost  an 
apology.  Even  a  saint  cannot  place  himself 
"  above  "  the  strife — he  may  at  best  remain 
aside  and  try  to  look  beyond.  The  proper 
frame  of  mind  for  a  man  whose  convictions 
keep  him  away  from  either  camp  is  not  pride, 
but  torturing  anguish,  despair  at  his  own  impo- 
tence, envy  for  those  whose  faith  can  shine 
forth  in  deeds. 

To  fight  may  be  noble,  if  the  cause  be  just; 
not  to  fight  may  be  nobler  still,  if  abstention  be 
dictated  by  principle.  A  consistent  Christian,  a 
Quaker,  a  Tolstoyan,  a  Dukhobor;  a  thorough- 
going internationalist  and  humanitarian,  and 
even  a  radical  individualist  may  stand  aside, 
and  preserve  their  self-respect.  But  what  is 
Romain  Rolland  ?  An  admirer  of  Tolstoy 
rather  than  a  Tolstoyan;  an  epicure  of  cosmo- 
politanism rather  than  an  internationalist;  in 
all  things,  an  eclecticist,  not  a  believer.  He 
could  not  repeat,  full-heartedly,  the  words  of 
Wilham  Lloyd  Garrison:  "  My  country  is  the 

*  In  the  same  way,  the  unhappy  phrase:  "  Too  proud 
to  fight,"  was  keenly  resented. 

293 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


world,  my  countrymen  are  all  mankind  !"  His 
country  is  the  world  of  art,  his  countrymen  the 
elite  of  culture.  His  appeals,  throughout  tins 
book,  are  not  broadly  human :  they  are  addressed 
to  the  chosen  few,  the  Uebermenschen  of  mteliec- 
tual  Europe. 

Grear  is  art,  and  holy;  yet  art  is  but  the 
flower  of  life,  and  the  mighty  souls  of  nations 
are  now  fighting  for  very  life.  If  you  stand 
aside,  let  it  be  in  the  name  of  something  wider 
and  deeper  than  national  life:  but  not  in  the 
name  of  Art,  noble  though  that  may  be  in  time 
of  peace.  Nothing  is  so  strikmg  as  the  contrast 
between  the  attitudes  of  Romain  RoUand  and 
Maurice  Barres  in  presence  of  German  vandalism : 
"1  have  been  reproved,"  writes  Roliand,  "for 
protesting  more  vehemently  against  the  des- 
truction of  masterpieces  than  against  the  holo- 
caust of  human  lives,  but  over  those  lives  which 
pass  away,  there  passes,  borne  on  their  shoulders, 
the  sacred  Ark  of  the  art  and  thought  of  cen- 
turies. Ihe  bearers  may  change:  let  the  Ark 
be  saved  i  To  the  ^lite  of  the  world  its  care  is 
entrusted.  And  since  the  common  treasure  is 
threatened,  let  that  elite  rise  to  protect  it  1" 

Maurice    Barres,    the    traditionalist,    the    de- 

294 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


fender  of  the  humblest  village  churches  against 
the  Iconoclasts  of  Free-Thought,  wrote  at  the 
same  time:  "  These  shells  [which  are  striking 
the  Cathedral  of  Rheims],  at  least,  are  not 
falling  upon  our  battalions,  upon  our  brothers 
and  our  sons,  upon  our  defenders.  May  the 
wonders  of  the  French  genius  perish,  rather 
than  the  French  genius  itself  !  Let  the  most 
beautiful  works  of  stone  be  destroyed,  that  the 
blood  of  my  race  may  live  !  At  this  minute, 
I  prefer  the  most  humble  and  frail  of  the  soldiers 
of  France  to  our  immortal  masterpieces.  We 
shall  create  other  masterpieces.  The  blood  of 
the  French  is  fraught  with  an  infinite  series  of 
perfections  which  aspire  to  be  born,  to  blossom 
out.  .  .  ."  *  There  has  been  much  irritating 
pose  in  the  career  of  Maurice  Barr^s ;  but  many 
of  his  sins  will  be  forgiven,  for  the  sake  of  words 
such  as  these,  which  ring  true. 

Once  more,  as  at  the  time  of  the  Dreyfus 
case,  as  in  his  would-be  popular  dramas,  as  in 
his  biographies,  as  in  Jean-Christophe  itself,  we 
feel  obscurely  the  inner  conflict  between  the 
heterogeneous  elements  in  Romain  Rolland's 
personality.  Had  he  been  able  to  fuse  them 
*  L'Union  Sacr6e,  September  21st. 

295 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

into  a  single  whole,  no  living  man  would  be 
greater  than  he.  As  it  is,  he  is  right  rather 
than  wrong,  yet  unable  to  assert  the  right  joy- 
ously and  convincingly.  In  the  hour  of  decision, 
he  points  earnestly  in  all  directions  at  once — 
too  detached  for  a  patriot,  too  much  of  a  par- 
tisan for  a  sheer  artist  or  an  internationalist. 
He  is  Protean  and  inconsistent,  the  mere  earthly 
shadow  of  the  hero  and  sage  he  dreamed  to  be. 


296 


CHAPTER  VIII 

CONCLUSION  :THE   TWILIGHT 
OF  A  WORLD  ? 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
CONCLUSION:  THE  TWILIGHT  OF  A  WORLD  ? 

§  I .  After  the  War  :  Decadence  ? 
Geniuses  as  cannon-fodder  and  survival  of  the  unfittest. 

"  When  the  midsummer  sun  set  on  the  even- 
ing of  Friday,  July  31,  1914,  it  went  down  upon 
a  world  which  passed  away  for  ever  with  its 
setting."  Thus  President  Nicholas  Murray 
Butler,*  voicing  an  opinion  which,  to  the  ma- 
jority of  his  hearers,  must  have  sounded  like 
an  eloquent  truism.  This  assertion  raises  a 
problem  which  we  must  attempt  to  solve,  if  we 
would  see  the  subject  of  the  present  book  in  its 
proper  perspective.  We  have  attempted  to 
sketch  the  strivings  and  gropings,  the  dreams 
and  despairs  of  a  generation:  will  all  that  be 
swept  away  so  soon  into  the  gulf  of  the  Great 
War?  Did  Anatole  France,  Pierre  Loti,  Paul 
Bourget,  Maurice  Barr^s,  Romain  Rolland,  depict 

*  In  an  address  before  the  Southern  Sociological  Con- 
gress, New  Orleans,  April,  1916. 

299 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

a  world  before  the  flood,  which  will  soon  seem 
alien  and  remote  to  us  ?  We  have  tried  to 
trace,  in  the  works  of  five  French  writers,  the 
influence  of  certain  political  events  and  of  certain 
social  conditions :  if  our  method  be  valid,  should 
we  not  be  able  to  forecast,  from  the  known  facts 
of  to-day,  the  character  of  the  literature  of 
to-morrow  ?  Prophecy  is  a  dangerous  trade ;  but 
reasoned  anticipation  is  the  aim  and  test  of 
science — a  test  from  which  history  should  not 
shrink. 

At  this  point,  we  cannot  help  remembering 
the  egregious,  the  tragi-comic  failures  of  Guizot 
and  Thiers.  Thiers,  a  journalist,  but  also  an 
historian,  a  financier  and  a  statesman,  keen- 
witted, practical,  the  embodiment  of  efficiency 
and  common  sense,  declared :  "  The  Parisians  are 
crying  for  a  railway  to  play  with :  let  them  have 
their  toy  I  But  it  will  never  transport  a  single 
passenger  or  a  pound  of  merchandise."  Guizot, 
the  lucid  and  profound  expounder  of  the  laws 
of  civilization,  asserted  on  the  eve  of  1848: 
"  Universal  suffrage  is  sheer  madness;  the  day 
of  universal  suffrage  will  never  come  1"  With 
these  illustrious  examples  in  mind,  we  are 
tempted  to  confess  that  history  is  no  science  in 

300 


THE  TWILIGHT  OF  A  WORLD  ? 

the  strict  sense  of  the  term ;  that  "  explanations  " 
are  merely  convenient  methods  for  grouping 
facts,  pedagogical  contrivances  without  any 
objective  value;  that  our  flickering  lamp  can 
throw  its  light  only  backward ;  and  that,  for  all 
our  searching,  the  secret  of  the  future  still  lies 
on  the  knees  of  the  gods. 

It  is  in  all  humility,  therefore,  that  we  shall 
question  the  assertion  so  clearly  made  by  Presi- 
dent Butler,  and  discuss  its  special  bearing  on 
French  literature. 

Should  the  cataclysm  of  war  spread  to  the 
great  nations  at  present  neutral,  and  proceed 
unimpeded  for  a  number  of  years,  then  indeed 
a  new  era  might  dawn  upon  the  world — an  era 
of  depression,  of  decadence,  new  Dark  Ages 
spreading  their  gloom  over  several  generations. 
The  desolation  of  the  once  populous  empires  of 
the  East,  the  degradation  which  accompanied 
and  followed  the  downfall  of  Rome,  the  blight  of 
Islam,  France  under  Charles  VI.,  Germany  for 
a  whole  half-century  after  the  peace  of  West- 
phalia, are  examples  in  point.  This  war  has 
already  levied  a  toll  unexampled  in  history: 
the  losses  of  the  belligerents  in  two  years  exceed 

301 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

those  suffered  during  the  quarter  of  a  century 
of  Revolutionary  and  Napoleonic  wars.  That 
all  European  nations  will  be  racially  the  weaker 
for  the  sacrifice  of  their  fittest  men  is  incontro- 
vertible: Novicow,  Seeck,  and  particularly  D.  S. 
Jordan,  have  turned  Darwinism  into  the  most 
telling  argument  in  favour  of  peace:  war  kills 
off  the  best  of  the  breed,  and  works  for  the 
survival  of  the  unfit. 

But  we  must  hasten  to  say  that,  under  almost 
any  conceivable  circumstances,  the  ruin  is  not 
likely  to  be  so  universal  and  so  thorough  as 
permanently  to  affect  the  future  of  civilization. 
It  was  not  so  much  organized  warfare  as  the 
anarchy  attendant  on  war — brigandage,  famine, 
pestilence — that  wrought  irreparable  havoc  in 
the  past.  Germany,  for  instance,  was  scoured 
for  thirty  years  by  ferocious  bands,  until  anthro- 
pophagy appeared  again  in  the  land.  Instead 
of  such  lawlessness  and  reckless  destruction,  we 
see  in  all  the  nations  engaged  in  the  struggle 
an  increase  in  efficiency  and  in  thrift,  a  new 
spirit  of  solidarity  and  organization,  which  will 
go  far  to  offset  the  actual  waste  of  war.  The 
area  under  fire  represents  but  an  infinitesimal 
percentage  of  the  surface  of  the  globe.     Women 

302 


THE  TWILIGHT  OF  A  WORLD  ? 


and  children,  the  guardians  of  the  future,  are 
reasonably  safe :  the  massacre  of  a  few  of  them 
causes  a  long  shudder  of  indignation  to  run 
throughout  the  world.  The  heroic  Serbian 
nation;  the  eternal  martyr,  Armenia;  Poland, 
once  the  knight  of  Christendom,  have  bled  pro- 
fusely :  but  they  are  minor  factors  in  the  world 
of  to-day.  Much  as  they  have  suffered  and  are 
likely  to  suffer,  Germany,  England,  Italy  and 
France  are  not  yet  vitally  affected. 

Not  yet :  but  what  if  the  war  should  continue 
until  all  participants  are  actually  exhausted? 
The  infinite  capacity  of  statesmen  for  criminal 
blundering  must  not  be  underrated ;  and  the 
loyalty  of  a  people  may  be  wrought  to  such  a 
point  of  fanatical  stoicism  that  collective  suicide 
would  no  longer  be  inconceivable.  A  world  at 
bay  might  repeat  the  epic  horrors  of  Saguntum, 
Jerusalem,  and  the  Paris  Commune.  Night- 
mares of  Armageddon  and  Gotterdammerung 
are  haunting  many  mystic  souls.  I  am  inclined 
to  view  the  situation  in  a  less  lurid  and  more 
reassuring  light.  The  war  will  stop  long  before 
the  great  nations  involved  in  it  are  hopelessly 
impoverished.  The  talk  of  fighting  "  to  the 
last  man  and  the  last  penny  "  is  rhetoric.     "  At- 

303 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

trition,"  if  it  comes  to  that,  will  have  done  its 
work  as  soon  as  it  is  seriously  under  way :  at 
present  the  Central  Empires  still  hope  to  force 
a  decision  or  wear  out  the  nerves  of  their  oppo- 
nents before  the  greater  potentialities  of  the 
Allies  have  fully  asserted  themselves.  As  soon 
as  they  realize  that  these  dreams  are  vain,  the 
end  will  be  near. 

From  our  special  point  of  view  as  students 
of  literature,  the  present  war  is  different  from 
all  others.  Never  before  had  the  intellectual 
classes  been  so  freely  sacrificed  as  at  present. 
The  small  professional  armies  of  Louis  XIV. 
and  Frederick  II.  were  composed  mainly  of  the 
riff-raff  of  the  population .  Except  during  the  last 
few  years  of  the  Empire,  the  well-to-do  could 
buy  themselves  off;  and  it  was  not  until  after 
the  war  of  1870  that  military  service  was  made 
absolutely  universal  in  France.  This  titanic 
struggle  has  not  spared  scientists,  scholars, 
poets,  and  philosophers:  side  by  side  with 
humbler  heroes,  they  have  been  used  as  cannon- 
fodder.  It  might  be  expected  therefore  that 
the  baneful  effect  on  the  national  intellect  will 
be  unexampled,  even  as  the  losses  have  been. 

These    losses    are    patent,    irremediable:    no 

304 


THE  TWILIGHT  OF  A  WORLD? 

glorious  peace  will  ever  give  back  to  France 
such  men  as  P^guy,  Psichari,  Albert  Thierry — 
three  names  picked  at  random,  and  symbolical 
of  thousands.  Yet  such  is  the  recuperative 
power  of  any  healthy  nation  that  it  would  not 
be  safe  to  prophesy  even  a  temporary  decline 
in  French  literature.  The  men  over  forty-seven 
have  not  said  their  last  word:  Victor  Hugo  was 
fifty,  and  had  published  nothing  for  eight  years, 
when  he  began  the  second  and  by  far  the  greater 
half  of  his  career.  There  will  be  geniuses  in 
the  generation  now  just  reaching  manhood. 
Women,  before  the  war,  were  only  beginning  to 
assume  their  rightful  place  in  literature.  With 
the  spread  of  education,  the  classes  from  which 
talents  can  be  expected  to  spring  are  multi- 
plying fast.  Then  "  genius  "  often  means  "  op- 
portunity "  and  "recognition":  the  thoughts 
diffused  among  the  people,  the  things  that  we 
want  to  be  said,  and  that  we  cannot  say  for 
ourselves,  will  finally  find  utterance,  under  the 
pressure  of  the  Zeitgeist.  Our  dead  heroes 
might  have  said  them  with  more  supreme  feli- 
city :  but  as  there  will  be  no  means  of  measuring 
what  we  shall  miss,  we  shall  not  be  aware  that 
we  miss  it  at  all.  Furthermore,  the  wind 
^  305 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and  we  may  have  a 
glorious  pleiad  of  poets  to-morrow,  in  spite  of 
all  wars. 

§  2.  Regeneration? 

Greater   earnestness — Precedents   of   the    Religious  Wars 
and  the  Revolution. 

Some  would  say :  because  of  the  war. 

This  leads  from  the  pessimistic  to  the  opti- 
mistic hypothesis.  War  will  not,  in  all  proba- 
bility, ruin  France  and  lower  the  level  of  her 
literature:  but  will  it  have  a  regenerative  in- 
fluence ?  Can  we  descry  a  Promised  Land 
beyond  this  sea  of  blood  ?  It  seems  almost  un- 
thinkable that  nations  could  go  through  the 
great  ordeal  unchastened.  They  are  living  on 
the  heroic  plane.  Much  of  the  dross  in  the 
collective  soul  must  have  been  purged  away  in 
the  crucible  of  war.  It  may  be  objected  that, 
not  once  but  several  times  before  have  such 
tragic  experiences  been  followed  by  carnivals 
of  frivohty.  Thus  the  Restoration  of  Charles  II., 
after  the  Rebellion  and  the  rule  of  the  Puritans ; 
thus  the  Regency  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  after 
the  sombre  bigotry  and  the  disasters  which  cast 
their  gloom  on  the  closing  years  of  Louis  XIV.; 

306 


THE  TWILIGHT  OF  A  WORLD? 

thus  Thermidor  and  the  Directoire  after  the 
great  Terror;  thus,  after  the  dread  which  had 
shaken  the  bourgeois  world  in  1848,  the  cynical 
levity  and  luxury  of  the  Second  Empire.  But 
none  of  these  cases  is  strictly  parallel  with 
present  conditions.  Then,  in  every  instance,  a 
large  element  in  society,  sometimes  an  actual 
majority  of  the  people,  had  been  repressed  or 
tyrannized  over  by  a  handful  of  fanatics.  A 
reaction  was  therefore  inevitable.  Now,  all 
nations,  and  particularly  France,  are  unani- 
mous. There  is  no  oppression  by  one  party,  by 
one  class,  by  one  sect:  M.  Poincare  is  no  Crom- 
well, no  Louis  XIV.,  no  Robespierre.  A  mild 
form  of  reaction  may  be  expected  as  soon  as  the 
nightmare  is  dispelled:  but  that  readjustment 
to  normal  conditions  may  proceed  so  slowly  as 
to  be  barely  noticeable.  Paris  is  not  quite  so 
Spartan  to-day  as  it  was  in  the  tragic  autumn 
of  19 14.  With  the  gradual  restoration  of  confi- 
dence, and  the  protracted  period  of  semi-official 
negotiations  which  may  precede  actual  peace, 
France  will,  by  an  easy  transition,  become  her- 
self again. 

I  should  not  be  surprised  if  it  were  then  dis- 
covered that  the  old  light-heartedness,  even  the 

307 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

old  flippancy,  have  not  wholly  disappeared.  It 
is  part  of  the  French  temperament  to  smile,  not 
only  as  soon  as  danger  is  over,  but  in  the  thick 
of  the  fray.  Apparent  levity  is  not  incom- 
patible with  heroism.  Medieval  epics  tell  us 
of  the  gaberies*  of  Charlemagne's  peers.  The 
courtiers  of  Louis  XVI.  remained  exquisitely 
witty  in  prison  and  even  on  the  steps  of  the 
guillotine.  And  the  poilus  in  their  trenches  are 
keeping  up  the  Gallic  tradition  of  broad  humour. 
France  was  deeply  serious  long  before  the  present 
war.  Indeed,  only  superficial  or  biassed  critics 
had  ever  thought  that  the  land  of  Descartes, 
Pascal,  Bossuet,  BufFon,  Lamarck,  Auguste 
Comte,  Taine,  Pasteur,  was  frivolous  at  heart. 
But  France,  like  the  painstaking  scholar  and 
profound  philosopher  Renan,  took  pride  in 
masking  with  a  smile  her  most  laborious  efforts. 
Joffre  will  not  remain  before  posterity  with  an 
eternal  frown.  French  self-irony  will  not  die. 
But,  to-morrow  as  yesterday,  it  will  be  mis- 
understood. To-morrow  as  yesterday,  prudes, 
pedants,  and  Pharisees  will  be  scandalized. 

We  should  be  careful  not  to  ascribe  to  the 
war  certain  changes  which  had  been  under  way 

*  Humorous  bragging. 
308 


THE  TWILIGHT  OF  A  WORLD  ? 

for  a  decade  before  1914.  The  France  of  to- 
morrow may  be,  and,  I  hope,  will  be,  somewhat 
impatient  of  the  laboured  eroticism  of  Pierre 
Loiiys  and  Anatole  France.  But  so  was  already 
the  France  of  yesterday.  The  books  of  Agathon,* 
Dimnet,t  Riou,J  Rey,§  Lichtenberger,||  Romain 
Rolland,^!  leave  no  doubt  as  to  this  evolution. 
The  new  generation  was  less  subtle,  less  artistic 
than  its  predecessor,  but  it  was  healthier.  The 
Young  Barbarian  was  already  superseding  the 
Esthete  as  the  ideal  of  educated  youth.  The 
war  will  simply  accelerate  this  transformation: 
a  consummation  greatly  to  be  desired. 

Beyond  that  sobering  effect,  may  we  expect 
from  the  war  a  deeper  regenerative  influence  on 
French  literature  ?  Twice  before  in  the  last 
four  centuries  had  France  gone  through  such  a 
terrible  ordeal:  the  Religious  Wars  and  the 
Revolution.  Twice  has  Armageddon  been  fol- 
lowed by  a  magnificent  development  of  litera- 

*  Les  Jeunes  Gens  d'Aujourd'hui. 

t  France  Herself  Again   (composed   mostly  before  the 
war). 

X  Aux  Ecoutes  de  la  France  qui  Vient. 
§  Le  R6veil  de  I'Orgueil  Frangais. 
II  Le  Sang  Nouveau. 
U  Jean-Christophe  (x.). 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

ture:  the  classical  school  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  Romanticism  in  the  nineteenth.  Will 
a  similar  splendour  crown  this  new  Arma- 
geddon ? 

On  closer  scrutiny,  we  are  led  to  wonder 
whether  there  was  any  direct  connection  be- 
tween the  two  great  literary  revivals  and  the 
national  crises  which  had  preceded  them.  Classi- 
cism was  full-grown  at  the  time  of  the  Renais- 
sance, before  Europe  and  France  were  torn 
asunder  by  religious  strife.  The  essentials  of 
Romanticism  were  already  to  be  found  in  Rous- 
seau: Saint-Preux  is  a  Byronic  hero.  It  might 
well  be  maintained  that  those  two  mighty 
storms  had  simply  the  result  of  deferring  by 
half  a  century  the  normal  development  of 
literature. 

Yet  the  Reformation  reached  the  very  depths 
of  men's  souls,  and  the  Revolution  changed  the 
face  of  the  world.  The  present  war  can  hardly 
be  expected  to  achieve  so  much.  The  most 
tragic  thing  about  this  conflict  is  that  it  is  not 
waged  in  order  to  promote  new  ideals :  so  far  at 
least  as  France  is  concerned,  her  one  aim  is  to 
check  a  recrudescence  of  an  ideal  which  she  con- 
siders barbaric.     This  is  not  a  missionary  war, 

310 


THE  TWILIGHT  OF  A  WORLD? 

but,  spiritually  as  well  as  materially,  one  of 
sheer  defence.  Nay,  the  Germans  too  have 
worked  themselves  up  into  the  belief  that  they 
are  protecting  their  most  sacred  possessions 
against  wanton  aggression.  No  one,  therefore, 
hopes  to  gain  anything  vital;  no  one  indeed 
hopes  to  gain  anything  at  all.  No  problem  will 
be  nearer  its  solution.  A  member  of  the  com- 
munity having  run  amuck  and  inflicted  on  the 
world  incalculable  damages,  will  be  restrained: 
that  is  all.  The  display  of  physical  energy,  of 
moral  endurance,  of  self-sacrificing  devotion  to 
a  cause,  is  impressive  enough,  and  cannot  fail 
to  have  an  educative  value.  But  the  gain  will 
be  offset  by  the  growth  of  hatred,  by  the  formid- 
able obstacles  accumulated  in  the  path  of  world- 
co-operation.  The  nations  will  have  profited 
little  or  nothing  by  their  conquests  and  by  their 
trials.  So  far  as  spiritual  growth  is  concerned, 
these  streams  of  pure  blood  have  been  poured 
in  vain.  For  this  war  is  waged  on  dead 
issues.* 

*  It  may  be  noted  in  this  connection  that  although  the 
victories  of  1864  and  1871  aroused  great  enthusiasm  in  the 
Northern  States  and  in  Germany,  they  absolutely  failed  to 
regenerate  the  American  and  German  literatures. 

3" 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

It  seems  unduly  paradoxical  to  reach  the  con- 
clusion that  such  an  upheaval  will  have  trifling 
or  negative  results.  But  is  it  not  the  rule  that 
bluster  is  no  standard  of  creative  activity?  The 
slow  ripening  of  the  grain  is  an  unobtrusive 
and  commonplace  process:  yet  it  means  in- 
finitely more  for  the  good  of  mankind  than  the 
most  spectacular  tornado.  In  the  same  way, 
some  quiet  scientist  may  be  at  this  very  moment 
winning  a  victory  which  will  bless  men's  lives 
long  after  the  epic  slaughters  of  Tannenberg  and 
Verdun  are  forgotten.  We  have  yet  to  learn 
the  lesson  of  the  still,  small  voice.* 


§   3.  Unity  and  Self-Confidence  restored. 
What  France  Means  to  the  World. 

1914,  therefore,  will  not  necessarily  mean  a 
new  era  in  French  literature  any  more  than  1 789 
or  1870.     Pseudo-classicism  went  on  for  nearly 

*  We  need  hardly  say  that  this  implies  no  disparage- 
ment of  the  heroism  of  the  combatants,  or  any  doubt  as  to 
the  justice  of  their  cause.  It  is  a  great  pity  that  brave 
men  should  have  to  give  up  their  lives  in  fighting  the 
flames,  and  the  true  patriot  is  he  who  attempts  to  make 
conflagration  impossible:  but  firemen  are  none  the  less 
entitled  to  our  gratitude  and  admiration. 

312 


THE  TWILIGHT  OF  A  WORLD  ? 

two  generations  after  the  first  of  these  dates. 
The  age  illustrated  and  typified  by  Taine,  Renan, 
Leconte  de  Lisle,  Dumas  Fils,  Augier,  Flau- 
bert, the  Goncourts,  began  about  1850  and  did 
not  come  to  an  end  until  1890.  French  litera- 
ture will  change,  for  such  is  the  law  of  life;  it 
will  receive  a  new  tinge  from  the  war,  for  nothing 
human  remains  alien  to  it.  But  a  revolution  in 
art  and  thought  as  the  result  of  military  con- 
flict is  improbable. 

Yet  a  merely  negative  result  should  not  be 
scorned.  We  have  attempted  to  show  that  the 
France  of  yesterday  was  suffering  from  two 
diseases:  spiritual  disunion  and  loss  of  self-con- 
fidence. These  the  present  war  may  alleviate, 
and  perhaps  even  cure. 

It  would  be  Utopian  to  expect  the  "  Sacred 
Union  "  of  all  parties  to  outlive  the  period  of 
hostilities.  As  soon  as  the  foreign  menace  is 
removed,  the  French  will  be  at  their  old  game 
of  springing  at  each  other's  throats  in  the  name 
of  liberty,  equality,  and  fraternity.  Their  one 
comfort  will  be  that  their  English  friends  are 
likely  to  behave  even  worse.  Yet  there  will  be 
a  difference.  This  is  the  first  time  since  the 
Revolution,  and  perhaps  the  first  time  in  history, 

313 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


that  France  has  stood  as  one  block.  The  Con- 
vention had  to  fight  the  whole  West  and  South 
in  organized  rebellion ;  whilst  factions  were  send- 
ing each  other  to  the  guillotine.  Napoleon 
found  emigres  and  transfuges  at  every  step  of  his 
career,  from  the  Royalists  at  Toulon  and  Phe- 
lippeaux  at  St.-Jean-d'Acre  to  Bernadotte  and 
Moreau  in  the  campaign  of  1 8 1 3 .  The  Bourbons 
were  kings  by  the  grace  of  the  invaders;  Louis- 
Philippe  clung  to  his  precarious  throne  for 
eighteen  years  amidst  the  irreconcilable  hostility 
of  Republicans  and  Legitimists;  Napoleon  IIL 
shot  his  way  to  the  throne,  and  was  abandoned 
by  his  capital  in  the  hour  of  most  desperate 
need;  Bazaine  surrendered,  because  "  the  Em- 
pire overthrown,  nothing  was  left."  The  moder- 
ates called  Gambetta  a  "  raving  lunatic."  Thiers 
gave  the  Bourgeois  Republic  her  baptism  of 
proletarian  blood.  There  is  not  one  ruler,  not 
one  statesman,  not  one  hero,  not  even  Lazare 
Carnot,  the  Organizer  of  Victory,  not  even  Gam- 
betta, the  soul  of  National  Defence,  that  has 
not  been  slandered  and  vilified  by  some  sect  or 
party.  And  this  went  on  until  July,  191 4. 
Now  for  the  first  time.  Catholics,  Free-Thinkers, 
Protestants,  and  Jews ;  Royalists,  Bonapartists, 
314 


THE  TWILIGHT  OF  A  WORLD? 

Opportunists,  and  Radicals;  capitalists  and 
Socialists — all,  Herv6  with  Barr^s,  Maurras  with 
Briand,  Du  Paty  de  Clam  with  the  son  of  Cap- 
tain Dreyfus,  all  are  standing  together  like  a 
living  wall.  Henceforth  the  French  will  once 
more  have  a  common  tradition. 

If  the  Allies  are  defeated — an  eventuality 
which  cannot  lightly  be  dismissed — then  all  the 
fruit  of  this  "  Sacred  Union  "  will  be  lost.  In- 
evitably, the  Nationalists  will  reproach  the 
Socialists  for  having  hampered  the  work  of 
national  preparedness;  and  the  Socialists  will 
jreproach  the  Nationalists  for  a  foolhardy  and 
short-sighted  policy  which  could  lead  to  naught 
but  war.  Then  we  shall  have  a  France  more 
hopelessly  divided  against  herself  than  before :  a 
patriotism  narrower,  more  feverish,  more  do- 
lorous, dreaming  hopelessly  of  a  final  "  Re- 
vanche ";  a  peace  party  frankly  antipatriotic, 
and  advocating  universal  revolution.  France 
and  the  French  spirit  will  not  die ;  but  they  will 
be,  more  than  ever,  morbid  and  embittered. 

If,  on  the  contrary,  the  Allies  should  win — 
and  what  loyal  citizen  of  the  world-Republic 
can  fail  to  pray  for  their  triumph  ? — then  an 
enormous  weight  will  be  lifted  from  the  French 

315 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

soul.  However  small  the  margin  of  victory, 
however  great  the  cost,  the  French  will  not 
grudge  their  sacrifices.  It  was  not  merely  the 
sense  of  defeat  that  haunted  them.  It  was  the 
sense  of  cosmic  injustice,  the  eternal  problem 
of  Job.  Sins  they  had  committed,  confessed 
and  atoned  for;  but  they  were  also  conscious  of 
noble  unselfish  efforts  requited  with  disaster, 
and  worse  still,  with  contumely.  The  un- 
deserved contempt  of  a  Pharisaic  world  was 
maddening.  France,  victorious,  will  have  paid 
the  full  price,  and  will  recover  calm.  Many 
dark  hours  she  will  have  to  live  through.  But 
her  heart  will  no  longer  be  assailed  by  self-doubt 
and  anguish. 

The  French  will  have  a  common  tradition: 
and  that  tradition  will  not  be  a  dead  thing,  a 
self-made  prison  of  vulgar  pride,  confining  the 
free  expansion  of  the  national  soul.  It  will  be 
compatible  with  the  highest,  with  the  most  vis- 
ionary aspirations  of  their  poets  and  prophets. 
France  is  fighting,  not  for  territory,  not  for 
prestige,  not  even  primarily  for  existence,  but 
for  international  justice.  She  has  called  up  the 
shades  of  Saint  Louis,  of  Joan  of  Arc,  of  Napo- 
leon: but  it  is  in  defence  of  a  universal  ideal. 

316 


THE  TWILIGHT  OF  A  WORLD? 

She  has  found  her  soul,  and  the  world  sees  it 
shining  in  her  eyes. 

I  believe  in  the  principles  of  democracy,  of 
fraternal  justice,  of  humanitarianism,  for  which 
France  has  stood  in  the  past  and  stands  to-day. 
I  believe  that  it  was  a  calamity,  not  for  herself 
alone,  but  for  mankind,  when  her  star  went 
down,  for  with  it  was  obscured  the  faith  of  men 
in  many  a  noble  cause.  We  have  witnessed, 
throughout  the  fifty  years  of  the  Bismarckian 
era,  a  revival  of  materialism,  of  superstition,  and 
of  ferocity.  We  have  turned  back  from  the 
fearless  rationalism  of  our  philosophers ;  we  have 
jeered  at  the  idealism  of  the  generation  of  1848. 
"  Real-Politik  "  has  prevailed,  enforced  by  the 
threat  of  the  mailed  fist.  Even  England,  even 
the  United  States,  have  toyed  with  the  tempt- 
ing fallacy  that  might  is  right.  "  Supremacy  " 
was  the  avowed  goal;  and  supremacy  was 
measured  in  millions  of  square  miles,  in  billions 
of  foreign  trade.  With  France  herself  again, 
hard-working,  free  of  thought,  loving  peace  and 
athirst  for  justice,  the  hearts  of  those  who 
throughout  the  world  are  fighting  against  pre- 
judices and  privileges  will  beat  more  gladly. 
The  trumpet  call  of  Chanticleer  will  thrill  once 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 

more  those  who  were  suffering  in  darkness. 
May  the  successors  of  Anatole  France,  Loti, 
Bourget,  Barr^s,  Rolland,  more  blessed  than 
their  elders,  give  us  in  their  works  the  reflected 
glory  of  these  infinite  hopes  ! 


ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 


A  few  paragraphs  in  the  Introduction  have  previously 
appeared  in  The  Academic  Study  of  French  Civilization, 
Publications  of  the  Modern  Language  Association  of 
America,  xxx.  3. 

The  first  part  of  Chapter  V.  and  the  bulk  of  Chapter  VI. 
have  been  used  in  "  Maurice  Barrds  and  the  Doctrine  of 
Nationalism,"  Texas  Review,  April,  1916. 


318 


INDEX 

The  names  of  authors  and  historical  characters  are  in 

small  capitals. 
The  names  of  characters  in  fiction  are  in  ordinary  type. 
The  titles  of  books  and  periodicals  are  in  italics. 


Abb6  Constantin,  15,  i6 

Abeille,  60 

Above  the  Strife,  291-296 

Action  Franpaise,  242 

Ada,  272 

Adam,  P.,  21 

Adolescence,  270-273 

Agathon,  309 

Amade,  Gen.  d',  127 

Amethyst  Ring.  loi,  114-119 

Amiel,  F.,  112,  189,  194,  219 

Amori  et  Dolori  Sacrum,  220 

Amour,  De  I',  197 

Andri  Cornilis,  195 

Ange,  Friar,  73 

Angelica,  117 

Anna  (Braun).  283,  287 

Antoinette,  279,  280 

Antoinette  (Jeannin),  285,  286, 

287 
Aphrodite,  71 

Appeal  to  the  Soldier,  223,  224 
A  Rebours,  221 
Arnaud,  Mme.,  287 
As  Strong  as  Death,  77 
Astarac,  M.  d',  73 
AuDoux,  Marguerite,  11,  22 
AuGiER,  E.,  313 
Augustine,  St.,  219 
Aux  Ecoutes  de  la  France  qui 

vient,  309 
Azyad6,  146,  147,  152,  161,  166, 

168 

Bacon,  247 

Baillards,  Brothers,  230-233 

Balthazar,  66 


Balzac,  H.  de,  17,  18,  103,  181, 

191.  193,  197,  290 
Barbey  D'Aurevilly,  180 
Barres,  M.,  8,  9,  20,  23,  24,  29, 

30,  31,  34,  94,  175,  176,  183, 

194,   213-248,   290,   294,   295, 

299.  315.  318 
Barricade,  209,  210 
Baudelaire,  Ch.,   14,   31,   189, 

220 
Bayle,  43,  45 
Bazaine,  314 
Bazin,  R.,  20,  21 
Beaunier,  a.,  22 
Becque,  H.,  29,  197 
Beethoven,  263,  264,  273 
Beethoven,  Life  of,  253,  258,  259, 

286 
Bell,  Miss  v.,  76 
Bereny,    Countess   Grazia,    281 

284,  285,  286 
Bergeret,   Prof.  L.,   42,   51,   96, 

102,   105,    106,    109,    111-114, 

116,  117.  118,  1X9,  120,  121, 

263 
Bergeret,  Mme.,   iia,   113,   114, 

116 
Bergson,  H.,  41 
Bernadotte,  314 
Bertrand,  L.,  22 
Beyle,  H.,  193;  cf.  Stendhal 
Bluebeard,  132 
Blood,  Pleasure  and  Death,  220, 

227 
Boig,  the  Great,  84,  85 
Boileau,  177 
BONALD,   180 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


Bonaparte,   N.,    i8o,   242;   cf. 

Napoleon 
Bonmont,  de,  115 
Bonnard,  Sylvestre,  48,  51,  109; 

cf .  Crime  of  Sylvestre  Bonnard 
BoNNOT,  199 
Book   of  My   Friend,    The,    44, 

60-65,  75.  93.  "9.  139 
Book   of  Pity  and  Death,    The, 

162,  188 
Bordeaux,  H.,  15,  20,  21 
BossuET,  J.  B.,  178,  198,  215, 

289,  308 
Boulanger,  Gen.,  221-224 
BouRGES,  E16mir,  5 
Bourget,  p.,  8,  9,  19,  20,  22,  23, 

24,  26,  29,  30,  34,  46,  76,  77, 

94.    153.    159,    167,    173-211. 

215,  216,  218,  219,  242,  243, 

299,  318 
Bouteiller,  225 
Brahms,  273,  274 
Braun,  Dr.,  282,  283 
Br6c6,  de,  115 

Briand,  a.,  105,  126,  207,  315 
Brotteaux  des  Islettes,  no,  130 
Brunetiere,    F.,    30,    67,    183, 

189 

BUFFON,  59,  175,   308 

Burdeau,  225 
Bur  graves,  181 
Burns,  R.,  ii 
Butler,  N.  M.,  299,  301 
Butler,  S..  125 
Byron,  185 

Cahiers  de  la  Quinzaine,  259-263 

Caine,  Hall,  15 

Calvin,  289 

Carlyle,  82,  238 

Carnot,  L.,  314 

Cartier  de  Chalmot,  Gen.,  104 

Casal,  Raymond,  199 

Castle  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty,  162 

Catherine  the  Lacemaker,  73,  96 

C6rds,  131 

Charlemagne,  308 

320 


Charles  II.  (Stuart),  306 
Charles  VI.,  301 
Charles  IX.,  205 
Chariot,  Mgr.,  105 
Chateaubriand,  F.  R.  de,  24, 

31,  45,  69,  108,  151,  164,  180, 

185,  223 
Choulette,  76 
Chrysanthemum,     166;    cf 

Madame  Chrysanthemum 
Clavier-Grandchamps,  204 
Clemenceau,  126 
Coccoz,  57,  58 
Coignard,  J6r6me,  42,  51,  72-73. 

95.  96,  109,  130;  cf.  opinions 

of  J6r6me  Coignard 
Colette  {Lies),  196,  210,  215 
Colette   Baudoche,    8,    209,    227, 

228,  230 
Common  Sailor,  A,  149,  156 
Comte,  Aug.,  181,  203,  308 
CoNDfe,  205 
Condorcet,  181 
Confucius,  87 
CoRELLi,  Marie,  15 
Corneille,  p.,  230 
Contemporary  History,  75,   loi- 

121 
Cracks  in  the  House,  235 
Crainquebille,  Putois,  Riquet,  132 
Crime  of  Love,  A,  195,  219 
Crime  of  Sylvestre  Bonnard,  The, 

42,   44,   56-60,   69,    75,   93,   2X1 

Cromwell,  307 

Danton,  242 

Danton,  257 

Darwin,  i8a 

Daudet,  a.,  55 

Daughter  of  Heaven,   The,   143, 

163 
Dawn,  263-266 
Death  of  Philoe,  i6a 
Death-Throes  of  Turkey,  163 
Dechartre,  74,  75,  89 
Decourcelles,  p.,  15 
Demi-Vierges,  Les,  22 


INDEX 


Demon  of  Mid-Day,  The,  209 

Descartes,  R.,  178,  247,  308 

Descaves,  L.,  21 

Desert,  The,  162 

Des  Esseintes,  221 

Desires  of  Jean  Servien,  The,  60, 

109 
Deux  Gosses,  Les,  15 
Dialogues    et    Fragments    Philo- 

sophiques,  20 
Diamond  from  the  Sky,  17 
Dickens,  208 
Diderot,  181 

Diener,  Otto,  267,  268,  271,  287 
DiMNET,  Abb6,  309 
Disciple,   The,    8,   46,    183,    191, 

194.  195.  198-200 
Disenchanted,  The,  8,  159-161 
Divorce,  A,  209 
Djenane,  161 
Drama   of  the  Revolution,    The, 

257 
Dressmaker's    Form,    The,    loi, 

111-114 
Dreyfus,  32,  99-101,  240,  253- 

255.  257,  260,  295,  315 
Drude,  Gen.,  H27 
Drumont,  E.,  99 
Dubois,  Card.,  205 
Dumas,  A.  Pere,  17 
Dumas,  A.  Fils,  313 
Dumas,  Dr.  G.,  69 
DuPANLOUP,  Mgr.,  54 
Du  Paty  de  Clam,  315 

Eastern  Bastions,  The,  227,  234 
Ecclesiastes,  34,  95 
Edward  VII.,  40 
Ehrich,  227,  228 
Eliot,  G.,  86 

Elm  on  the  Mall,  The,  loi-iii 
Emigre,  L' ,  204 
Ennery,  D',  15 
Erewhon,  125 

Essays    in    Contemporary    Psy- 
chology, 189 
Estaunie,  E.,  5 


Etape,  L'  (Probation  Stage),  191, 

204 
Etui  de  Nacre,  L',  66 
Euler,   Amalia  and  Rosa,    270, 

271 
Eve  of  Battle,  The,  22 

Faces    and     Things     that    were 

Passing,  162 
Fair  on  the  Market  Place,  The, 

277-279,  288 
Fallieres,  a.,  205 
Falstaff,  73 

Famille  Cardinal,  La,  16 
Farrere,  C,  22 
Fatou-Gaye,  146 
Figaro,  179 

Figaro,  Le,  loi,  102,  106,  121 
Flaubert,  G.,  71,  103,  181,  193, 

313 
Flowers  of  Evil,  The,  14,  220 
Fontanet,  53 
For  Our  Churches,  243 
Fourteenth  of  July,  The,  247 
France  Herself  Again,  309 
France,  A.,  7,  8,  9,  14,  15,  20, 

23,    24,    26,    29,    32,    33.    34. 

39-134,    139,    141.    143.    167. 

175,  183,  189,  215,  237,  290, 

309,  318, 
Francis,  St.,  266 
Francis  I.,  205 
Frederick  II.,  304 
Free  Man,  A,  217 
Friends,  The,  281 
Fuller,  Margaret,  238 
Future  of  Science,  The,  182 

Galilee,  162 

Gallio,  124,  125 

Gamelin,  Evariste,  130 

Ganse,  Mme.,  64,  65 

Gaos,  Yann,  152,  153 

Garden    of  Berenice,    The,    217, 

219,  220,  222 
Garden  of  Epicurus,  The,  68,  94 
Garrison,  Wm.  L.,  293 

321 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


Gaulois,  Le,  102 

GAUTiER,Th.,3i,78, 164, 165, 190 

Gerade,  Paul,  12 

Gleams  on  the  Sombre  Road,  162 

Godet-Laterrasse,  55 

Gods  are  Aihirst,  The,  129 

Golden  Age,  The,  61 

GoNCOURT,  E.  and  J.  de,  155,  313 

Gospels  (Zola's),  32 

Gottfried,  Uncle,  266,  272,  285 

Goiibin,  M.,  117 

GouRAUD,  Gen.,  127 

Gracieuse,  157 

Graham,  Kenneth,  61 

Graziella,  148 

Great  Distress  of  the  Churches  of 

France,  224,  243 
Greslou,  R.,  195,  198,  199,  200 
Gromance,  Mme.  de,   104,   iii, 

115,  116 
Griine,  Heinrich  der,  288 
GuiLLAUMiN,  II,  22 
Guitrel,  Abbe,  54,  102,  106,  iii, 

115 
GuizoT,  300 
GuYiESSE,  Ch.,  260 

Halevy,  Daniel,  126,  260 

Hal^vy,  Ludovic,  15 

Hamilton  (Sylvain  Kohn),  278 

Hamlet,  195 

Handel,  253 

Hassler,  274 

Heine,  H.,  217 

HelU,  22 

Henry  IH.,  205 

Henry  IV.,  140 

HERvfi,  G.,  133,  315 

Histoire  Comique,  132 

History  of  Four  Years,  126 

Holbach,  182 

Homais,  181,  184 

House  of  Sin,  The,  22 

Hugo,  V.,  17,  32,  133,  161,  164, 

180,  181,  243,  290.  292,  305 
Huxley,  J.  S.,  130 
HuYSMANS,  J.  K.,  221 

322 


Iceland  Fisherman,  The,  93,  142, 
149,  151-153.  168,  211 

India  {without  the  English),  138, 
162 

Inspired  Hill,  The,  230-234 

Intellectual  and  Moral  Reforma- 
tion of  France,  182 

In  the  German  Service,  227 

In  the  House,  280,  288 

Jacqueline,  281,  287 
James,  Wm.,  53 
Japan  in  Autumn,  155 
Jaures,  J.,  32,  40,  123,  242 
Jean-Christophe,     23,     251-296, 

309 
Jeanne  Alexandre,  58,  59 
Jeannin,  Olivier,  279,  280,  281, 

282,  284 
Jerusalem,  162 
Jeunes  Gens  d'Aujourd'hui,  Les, 

309 
Joan  of  Arc,  242,  316 
Joan  of  Arc,  Life  of,  51,  127-128 
Jocaste,  55,  60 
JoFFRE,  Gen.,  308 
Jordan,  D.  S.,  302 
Judith  Renaudin,  162 

Kant,  I.,  225,  247,  248 
Keller,  Gottfried,  288 
Kerich,  Josepha  von,  268,  269, 

270,  271 
Kerich,  Minna  von,  268,  269 
Krafit,     Jean-Christophe,     251- 

296 
Krafft,    Jean-Michel,    264,    265, 

266,  267 

Krafit,  Louisa,  265,  266 
Krafft,  Melchior,  264,  265,  266, 

267,  270 

Kohn,  Sylvain  (Hamilton),  278 
Krupp,  123 

Lacarelle,  M.,  237 
Ladies'  Home  Journal,  15 
Lady  in  White,  63 


INDEX 


Lamarck,  308 
Lamartine,  148,  180,  181 
Lamennais,  32,  180,  231 
Lantaigne,  Abb6,  54,   105,   106, 

107,  108,   no.  III,   113,   115, 

n6 
Larcher,  C,  196,  198,  219 
Last  Days  of  Pekin,  162 
Lavoisier,  186,  187 
Lay  Down  Your  Arms  !  208 
Lean  Cat,  The,  55 
Leconte  de  Lisle,  313 
Lemaitre,  J.,  46,  76,  189,  242 
Lemerre,  a.,  54 
Le  Mesnil,  74,  89 
Leroux,  p.,  32 
Lhery,  A.,  160,  161 
Lichtenberger,  309 
Lies,  191,  196,  198,  210,  219 
L1TTR6,  198 

Longuemare,  Father  de,  130 
Lorna  Doone,  192 
LoTi,  P.,  8,  9,  20,  23,  24,  26,  29, 

31,   34,   74,  93,   103,   135-171. 

190,  290,  299,  318 
Loubet,  E.,  205 
Louis  IX.,  85,  206,  316 
Louis  X.,  244 
Louis  XIV.,  177,  178,  206,  242, 

304,  306,  307 
Louis  XV.,  205 
Louis  XVI.,  308 
Louis-Philippe,  16,  314 
LoiJYS,  P.,  5,  32,  71,  309 
Loyer,  116 

Loyola,  St.  Ignatius,  217,  219 
Lyautey,  Gen.,  127 

Madame  Bovary,  103,  181 
Madame  Butterfly,  147 
Madame    Chrysanthemum,    146, 

147,  148,  154,  153 
Mael,  St.,  130,  131 
Maindron,  M.,  22 
Maistre,  J.  de,  180 
Malebranche,  178 

MALLARMt,    127 


Mangin,  Gen.,  217 
Manon  Lescaut,  72 
Margueritte,  p.  and  V.,  21 
Marie-Claire,  22 
Marneffe,  Val6rie,  196 
Martin-Belleme,  TMrese,  74,  75, 

89 
Marx,  K.,  24,  32 
Maupassant,  G.  de,  23,  66,  77 
Maurras,  Ch.,  30,  183,  203,  2x6. 

242,  243,  315 
Mazarin,  Card.,  205 
Mazure,  104 
McKaye,  Percy,  257 
Meine  Beobachtungen  und  Erleh- 

nisse  als  Dorf pastor,  12 
Mendelssohn,  273 
Men6trier,  Jacques,  71 
Mevel,  Gaud,  152,  153 
Meung,  Jehan  de,  244 
Michael- An GELO,  276,  287 
Michael- Angela,    Life    of,    258, 

259 
Michelet,  J.,  32,  180,  241,  256, 

257,  292 
Mille,  Pierre,  22 
Millerand,  126,  207 
Minna,  287 
Mirbeau,  O.,  21,  193 
Miserables,  Les,  18 
Moan,    Granny    and    Sylvestre, 

153 

MOLIERE,    80 

Monneron,  the,  191 
Monneron,  JuUe,  204 
Monsieur  Bergeret  in  Paris,  loi, 

119-121 
Montaigne,  67,  73,  80,  95 
MoNTfipiN,  X.  de,  15 
Moraines,    Suzanne,     196,     210, 

215 
MoREAU,  Gen.,  314 
MoRicE,  Ch.,  94 
Morning,  267-270 
Morocco,  161 
MosELLY,  22 
MosES.  8r 

323 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


MuLLER,  Ottfried,  ii8 
Musicians  of  To-day,  253 
Musicians  of  Yesterday,  253 
My  Brother  Yves,  149,  151 

Napoleon,    I.,    131,    183,    258 

314.  316 
Napoleon  III.,  181,  314 
Nayrac,  219 
Newcome,  Col.,  60 
Newton,  186,  187 
Ninety-three,  18 
NoAiLLES,  Countess  M.  de,  22 
Nonotte,  207 
Notre-Dame,  18,  161 
Novicow,  302 
Noziere,  Dr.  and  Pierre,  60 

Ohnet,  G.,  15 
On  the  Glorious  Path,  134 
On  the  White  Stone,  124 
Opinions  of  Jerdme  Coignard,  45, 

73,  78,  102 
Oriental  Phantom,  147 
Origin  of  Species,  182 
Origins   of  the   Modern   Lyrical 

Drama,  253 
Otto    (Diener),    267,    268,    271, 

287 
Ouire-Mer,  190 

Pages  Litres,  260 

Panneton  de  la  Barge,  119 

Paphnutius,  68,  69 

Paris  as  a  Musical  Centre,  253 

Parisian  Life,  197 

Pascal,  B.,  34,  169,  256,  308 

Pascuala  Ivanowitch,  146 

Pasteur,  L.,  308 

Patouillet,  207 

Paul,  St.,  125 

"Peerless     Leader":     W.     J. 

Bryan,  40 
PiiGUY,  Ch.,  260,  262,  305 
PfiLADAN,  Sar  J.,  217 
Penguin  Island,  47,  75,  129,  130- 

132 

324 


Perils  of  Pauline,  1 7 

Petit  Journal,  14 

Petit  Parisien,  14 

Petit  Pierre,  Le,  65 

Phelippeaux,  314 

Philip  the  Fair,  206 

Physiology  of  Modern  Love,  176, 

196,  197,  219 
Physiologic  du  Mariage,  197 
Piedagnel,  Firmin,  108-111 
Pied  d'Alouette,  104 
Pierre  Nozidre,  65 
Pilate,  34 

Pilgrimage  to  Angkor,  162,  169 
Plutarch,  258 
PoiNCARii,  R.,  85,  205,  307 
Pompadour,  Mme.  de,  116,  205 
Pouilly  the  Lexicographer,  112 
Provost,  Abb6,  72 
Provost,  Marcel,  22 
Probation  Stage  (L'Etape),  210 
Procurator  of  Judcaa,  125 
Promised  Land,  195,  219 
Proudhon,  32 
PsicHARi,  J.,  305 
Puits  de  Sainte  Claire,  Le  {St. 

Clara's  Well).  66,  76 

Querne,  de,  219 
Quinet,  Edgar,  292 

Rabelais,  55,  80 

Racine,  193,  230,  239 

Ramuntcho,  157,  158,  162 

Rarahu,  74,  146,  152,  162,  166, 
168 

Rebel,  The,  22 

Rebellion,  ■Z'jyi'j6 

Red  and  Black,  195 

Red  Lily,  The,  8,  46,  68,  74,  77- 
90,  94 

Reflections  on  the  French  Revolu- 
tion, 180 

Regent,  205,  306 

Renan,  E.,  24,  30,  31,  32,  43, 
44,  45,  54.  69.  95.  108,  182, 
201,  240,  292.  308,  313 


INDEX 


Reveil  de  I'Orgueil  Fvangais,  Le, 

309 
Revolt  of  the  Angels,  The,  132 
Revue  de  Paris,  65 
Rey,  309 
RiCHEPiN,  J.,  215 
Riou,  309 
Riquet,   11 7-1 19 
Robert  Elsmere,  208 
Robespierre,  84,  307 
Rodin,  A.,  41,  276 
Rohan,  Card,  de,  205 
RoLLAND,  R.,  9,  15,  20,  23,  24, 

25.  33.  34.  ^33.  249-296,  299, 

309.  318 
Romance  of  a  Child,  The,  139 
Romance    of    National    Energy, 

The,  224,  225,  234 
Roman  de  la  Rose,  244 
Roosevelt,  Th.,  40 
RosNY,  J.  -H.,  21 
Rdtisserie    of   Queen    Pedauque, 

The,  68,  71-74,  75,  76,  77.  93. 

"5 
Rougon-Macquart,  Les,  93 
Roupart,  121,  122 
Rousseau,  J. -J.,  86,  164,  181, 

206,  310 
Roux,  M.,  113 
Rumesnil,  de,  204 

Sabine,  271,  272,  285,  287 
Saint  Clara's  Well,  66,  76 
Sainte-Beuve,  43,  67 
St.-Pierre,  Bernardin  de,  164 
St.-Preux,  310 
Saint-Simon,  223 
Salammbo,  18 
Sand,  George,  17,  32 
Sang  Nouveau,  Le,  309 
Scenes  and  Doctrines  of  Nation- 
alism, 224 
Schneider,  123 
Schubert,  273 

Schultz,  Dr.  Peter,  275,  286,  287 
Schumann,  273 
Seeck,  302 


Sembat,  M.,  207 

Sense  of  Death,  The,  22,  210 

Shakespeare,  16,  195,  239,  256 

SiiiYEs,  179 

Simon,  Jules,  221,  222 

Sixte,  Adrien,  191,  198,  199,  200 

Socrates,  82 

Spahi's  Romance,  146 

Spencer,  H.,  199,  243 

Spinoza,  198 

Stendhal,  189,  193,  194,  217 

Suleima,  146 

Sully-Prudhomme,  189 

Taconet,  Abb6,  198 

Taine,   H.,   30,    165,    182,    190. 

197,  198,  199,  203,  225,  243, 

308,  313 
Tales  of  Jacquot  Tournegbroche, 

132 
Talleyrand,  205 
Telemachus,  Gen.,  55 
Temps,  Le,  127 

Temptation  of  St.  Anthony,  71 
Terremondre,  M.  de,  104 
Teutobochus,  51 
Thais,  45,  68-71,  76,  93 
Thalamas,  127 
Tharaud,  J.  and  J.,  22 
Their  Faces,  223,  224 
Thibault,   J.  A.,   48,   50,    139; 

cf.  Anatole  France 
Thibault  (A.  France's  father), 

50.  61 
Thierry,  Albert,  262,  305 
Thiers,  A.,  300,  314 
Third  Youth  of  Madame  Plum, 

155 
Three  Musketeers,  18 
Through  the  Gate  of  Horn  and 

the  Gate  of  Ivory,  125 
Time- Machine,  The,  125 
Tolstoy,  256,  266,  290,  293 
Tolstoy,  Life  of,  258,  259 
Torquemada,  84,  199 
Toute    Licence     Sauf    Contre 

I' Amour,  218 


FIVE  MASTERS  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCE 


Towards  a  Better  Age,  124 
Towards  Ispahan,  161 
Tragedies  of  Faith,  The,  257 
Trepof,  Prince  and  Princess,  57, 

58 
Tribune,  The,  209 
Trinco,  131 
TuRGENiEV,  189 
Two  Little  Vagabonds,  15 
Tynaire,  M.,  22 

Vncle  Tom's  Cabin,  208 

Under  the  Eyes  of  the  Barbarians, 

194,  217,  226 
Union  Sacr^e,  L',  295 
Uprooted,  The,  224 

Vacherot,  198 

Vence,  Paul,  76 

Vergilius  Nauticus,  113 

Verlaine,  p.,  76 

ViAUD,  J.,  139.  145;  cf.  LoTi,  P. 

Vickers-Maxim,  123 


ViGNY,  A.  de,  34,  54,  169,  181 

Vinci,  Rene,  191 

Vintras,  231 

Visire,  131 

ViviANi,  126,  207 

Voltaire,  4,  24,  30,  43,  45,  54, 
55.  73.  80,  85,  86,  III,  116, 
181,  182,  205,  206,  207,  241, 
243.  289 

Wagner,  R.,  248,  273 
Wells,  H.  G.,  21,  78,  125,  187 
When  the  Sleeper  Wakes,  126 
Willy,  Colette,  22 
Wolf,  Hugo,  274 
Wolves,  The,  257 
Work,  32 

Worms-Clavelin,  104 
Wright,  Harold  Bell,  6 

Zola,  Emile,  8,  10,  18,  21,  29, 
32,  55.  93.  122.  150.  184,  19S 


BILLING    AND  SONS.    LTD.,    PRINTERS,   GUILDFORD,   ENGLAND 


'a 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


NOV  2  1988   ^ 


§11988 


Series  9482 


A    000  787  834     1 


